


Absinthe

by inertial



Category: B.A.P
Genre: M/M, Romance, Smut, bartending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 20:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 113,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11365383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inertial/pseuds/inertial
Summary: Youngjae loses himself to the art of bartending. He somehow catches the eye of an elite bar manager.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The bar-related terms are annotated! If you're unsure of a term, hover over them for a brief description and click for more info. ♪(*^^)o∀*∀o(^^*)♪ Excerpts taken are by Zhuang Zi and John Berger. One quote is by John Lennon. The text is linked and credited!

 

For Youngjae, weeknights are synonymous with the distinct smell of smoke and withered sound of blues. The lights, always a tad bit too bright, smash against brick walls and leave a jagged feel loitering in the air. The atmosphere is barely comfortable, but it's unnoticeable to the bar patrons drowning themselves in pints.

The maroon counter rests beneath his palms as usual, abraded by cup edges and bottle caps. These scars spell of numb wounds tended to with a misspelled anaesthetic—prescribed by a bartender who keeps diagnoses to himself. It is a pity, because these patients are always abandoned with the cruel sunlight, adjourned pain and a throbbing hangover.

It has become second nature for Youngjae to read both the marks on the bar and their culprits. The frequent rattling of fingernails against the counter sits with chagrined fists and tear-stained hands, whereas ecstasy hooks up with arms blind to the commotion.

Youngjae's job as a bartender is simple. He serves alcohol to those looking to nurse their souls and hoist their spirits. More often than not the drinks come straight from the bottle, while others need to be intricately woven together with an array of flavourful essences. Patched up with its craft, a drink constantly teeters on a thin line between a clumsy stitch and an exquisite piece of embroidery.

Perfection is barely a requirement for Youngjae, however. No one expects more than decent from a college student, not even he himself. The nights spent trapped between clinks of glasses and the non-subsiding drone are all to pay off his expenses. Nothing more.

It is an hour past midnight. Youngjae has a major exam the day after yet he is still behind the bar—voluntarily.

“[Tequila](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tequila),” a gruff voice cracks the clarinet tunes gliding through the air. Youngjae pushes a shot glass over, electrical terms shuffling through his head. He discreetly flips his textbook and repetitively reciting formulas off his tongue.

Scratchy tunes brood over hunched figures and pulls along the hours to waltz. Beneath Youngjae's unfocused gaze, a man slinks into the seat in front of him.

Saxophone veils unwind upon the patron's shoulders as he lightly smiles. He cuts an immaculate figure with his young face and suit. Though his presence is striking, the bar atmosphere absorbs in his charisma like an old acquaintance.

"A [Sazerac](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sazerac)," the man says, smooth tone slithering past chapped lips.

Youngjae spares him a quick glance, hazelnut brown glossing over a pair of murky, half-lidded eyes. He plucks out on an old fashioned glass and tugs several bottles from the shelves.

One sugar cube to sink in a shot of Rye Whiskey, intertwined with extra dashes of [Peychaud's bitters](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peychaud%27s_Bitters). A splash of [Absinthe](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Absinthe) and a lemon peel to gently lace the rim as the finale.

The man watches with discerning eyes as though dissecting his every step. It is unnerving, but Youngjae continues on with his work.

"Enjoy," Youngjae utters as the man receives his cocktail.

It is his turn to observe the man as he brings the glass up to his chin. There's a small twitch at the ends of his lips as red skims through his mouth.

Another patron calls out for a shot of Vodka and Youngjae skids across the counter. The man's stare, judgmental yet not heavy, follows after him. The line of equations jogging through Youngjae's head is intercepted by the man's voice.

"The Absinthe," he starts, pausing for a moment to smile. The way his lips curve is unusually slick, yet reeks of a certain artificiality—shaped not from insincerity but surreptitiousness.

"It's yours, isn't it?"

Youngjae reciprocates his smile, raising his brows. Almost half of the spirits on the shelves are his; he'd even saved up for a few months just to get this particular brand of Absinthe.

"How'd you know?" Youngjae locks gaze with the man, delving into his raven pupils. The man looks to be just a handful of years older than him, yet his eyes tensely illustrate an endless abyss.

“Which second-rate bar would go through the trouble of importing [Berthe de Joux](http://wormwoodsociety.org/index.php/component/content/article/572-berthe-de-joux) Absinthe?” The man replies, smirk sweeping across his face.

Soul lingers tranquilly between them, twirling like lime zests against coupe glasses. Youngjae dips his head after an instant, lashes fluttering away his surprise. The brand label on the Absinthe bottle is concealed; he'd done it lest he got accused of purchasing something so pricey with the bar's profits.

The man stretches himself and sighs, evidently pleased with Youngjae's stunned reaction. "Youngjae, right?" 

The bewilderment returns and Youngjae sends the man a curt nod.

"I've been here a few times," the man provides, settling back into the chair. "A few months back, and a few months before that. This is the first time I'm sitting upfront, though."

The man's smug grin relentlessly clutches to his wrinkled cheeks. His poise meshes with the pirouetting jazz, placating the air overwrought by murmurs. Once his stare swivels back, the man's blatant scrutiny compromises his emanating ease.

The man casually prods over his empty glass.

"Surprise me."

Youngjae's finger finds its way to the counter, tracing the indentations while his eyes glaze over the man. None of the strokes fit the way the patron's lips twist—like a bent violin bow on the obscure verge of snapping, yet determined not to.

The man studies Youngjae with creased eyebrows as liquids mingle inexorably within the shaker. Youngjae strains midnight blue into a martini glass, garnishing the cocktail with a lime wedge. The patron regards his drink with an entertained smile. 

"A [Blue Kamikaze](http://www.diffordsguide.com/cocktails/recipe/262/blue-kamikaze)?" He hums while blinking lazily. The man presses his lips together, trying to decipher the cocktail, before lifting his head with a sigh of resignation.

"Your best drink?" The man asks sceptically. Youngjae envisions strings running down the man's lips, dragging out a smooth melody. 

"You remind me of it," Youngjae explains.

The man's eyes widen and he emits an incredulous chuckle. "So I remind you of those war pilots who do suicide crashes?"

He taps the stem of the glass, intrigued, and Youngjae shrugs.

"That's funny. I'm usually described as charming," the man laughs. "What's with the particular colour, then?" 

He examines the drink once more, eyes skimming over blue, and sips it. Dusk disappears down his throat.

"Could've just given me a regular [Kamikaze](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kamikaze_%28cocktail%29)."

"It looks like you," Youngjae answers. 

The patron perks up at this in interest. He nods slowly, downing the rest of the cocktail. The air around him stiffens for a moment as he leans forward, but the composure returns quickly.

"Since we're on the topic of war-related drinks," he breathes, slanting his head idly, "how about a flaming [B-52](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B-52_%28cocktail%29)?"

The man's stare is unrelenting. It's obvious he's challenging Youngjae and attempting to gauge his standard. On first glance, everyone knows not to ask too much of him, yet Youngjae can't stop his lips from quirking excitedly.

The clock casts him a glare as he retrieves bottles from the shelves. Adrenaline leaks through his nerves as he carefully builds the cocktail. [Bailey's Irish cream](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baileys_Irish_Cream) curls upon [Kahlúa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kahl%C3%BAa) and [Grand Marnier](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Marnier) slides above, clean segments sleeping on one another. A brilliant flame dances within the rim, sizzling along with the thrill in him.

Youngjae ambles away to serve the other customers, not missing the look of satisfaction the man wears as he sips his drink. The patron's eyes are still trained obstinately on him as he washes glasses and stacks them away. He can barely read the man's expression and his leisurely smirk, but something tells him he is coming a little closer to the core.

"You've got a pretty face."

Youngjae stills for a moment, caught off-handed by the remark. He scoffs in amusement at the patron and resumes his ministrations.

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

The man's leer persists as he reclines into the chair. "You should."

He sifts out a card from his breast pocket and slides it towards Youngjae. The large word  _Cosmopolitan_  is sketched fancifully across it in cursive gold. The surrounding chatter reduces to simmering murmurs with dawn fast asleep, and the man smiles.

"We're a newly opened bar for the elites. The rich, basically. Cover charge's likely thrice of what you earn per week." The counter slices into the man's blazer; his lashes batting slowly against his eye circles.

"And we're looking for a new bartender."

Youngjae frowns cynically, waiting for the man to retract his hand with a mocking laugh, but he finds the client staring back at him steadily. The air around Youngjae thickens tenfold as he locks eyes with the patron. Something inside him stirs, a reminisce of the feverishness he'd felt previously, but he simply lowers his head.

"No, thanks."

He grabs a tablecloth, wiping over the disfigurements streaking through chestnut red. The jitters jab against his skin like the burn of alcohol down his throat and he shrinks back into the wafting blues.

He looks to the clock.

"I'm just doing this to make ends meet."

The man cocks his head smugly. "Is that so?"

He lights a cigarette, drafting out smoke. The bits of ashes dripping off the bud litter Youngjae's fingertips like inciting smithereens.

"You don't believe me?" Youngjae smiles. "I thought college bartenders were common."

He gathers used glasses and rinses them, turning around to stack them on the shelves. The fabric of his back pocket shifts and Youngjae abruptly spins back.

His glower fades the moment he faces the man, his arm propped up on the counter with a napkin dangling from his fingers—one that had been tucked away in Youngjae's pocket.

"They are. But you're not." 

The man sets the tissue down and his eyes scour past the novel recipe hastily scribbled on it. The patron veers his stare back to Youngjae, nails rapping against the surface as he awaits an answer.

Youngjae folds his lips, tugging at his vest as the grey puffs wrest at his clothes. The man draws out an exhale and slips the card further towards Youngjae.

"Think about it," he says, rising from his seat.

Youngjae picks the card up hesitantly, flipping it around to find a name.

 _Jung Daehyun_.

Before he can reply, the man has already vanished.

  
 

\--

  
 

Prior to this, Youngjae had been able to fit his life into squares. Label the bends of his ongoing affairs like they were pipes of a system flowing down to an ultimate end. It had been a habit cultivated in him to structure since young, and it continued guiding him even after his parents left him to himself when he graduated from high school.

But ink inevitably smudges when liquid seeps into the paper. It had been accidental; Youngjae had unknowingly picked up a paintbrush and spread the tinted translucency of alcohol over the rigid map of his life he'd charted. The graph of grids became a mess of distorted lines and in its place, a concoction of blurry swirls materialised.

Youngjae thumbs the pointed corner of the name card in his pocket, eyes focused on the worksheet before him. A voice drags him out of his reverie.

"Can you imagine?"

The boy opposite him fidgets restlessly, eyes twinkling under his sienna hair.

"In just two years' time," he says, enthusiasm contained within syllables, "we'll be done. Done with all of this." 

He flicks his textbook closed and Youngjae chuckles.

"Yeah. We'll finally be finished with everything we started," Youngjae breathes.

Under the blinding lights of the school library, Jaebum looks much older with all his acne scars emphasised. The lesion from Jaebum's fist fight in high school is still visible behind his fringe.

_How long has it been?_

"What?" Jaebum remarks, brows creasing in bewilderment. Youngjae blinks and the memory of Jaebum rubbing his sweaty, chubby cheeks against his school uniform fades to dust.

Jaebum had always been one of the popular kids since middle school, owing it to his appearance and bright personality. They were a bit like foils, Youngjae had always thought, and even up till now he still thinks the same. Yet somehow, they've stuck together for so many years. It's perhaps because they constantly wanted the same things, from little things like toys to their college major. 

Jaebum brushes his hand down his jawline in consternation and Youngjae laughs.

"Nothing."

Jaebum makes a face, shaking his head in amusement. Youngjae riffles through their textbook and the equations flicker past him like a film roll.

"How's the job going?" Jaebum asks.

Youngjae stops fondling the dog-eared ends of the name card, his hand tucked discreetly in his pocket. He replies, "I quit last week."

"Woah, are you serious?" Jaebum gapes, shooting up. "Why?"

Youngjae pulls his hand out and elbows his book away. "I wanted to focus on my studies. I've saved more than enough for the next three semesters."

Jaebum deflates dramatically and laments, "But you were so good at it. Such a waste of talent."

"You're just sad because you don't get to show off that you're friends with the bartender," Youngjae retorts with a roll of the eyes.

Jaebum cheekily smiles and corrects, " _Best_  friends." 

He shrugs after a moment of thought, eyes turning into crescents. "I can still show off I'm best friends with the smartest guy on campus."

"Why not  _be_ for a change?" Youngjae scoffs, earning a smug grin from Jaebum.

"I have you for that."

Silence weaves between their smiles, the chatter of students floating at the seams.

"But honestly," Jaebum starts, inching forward curiously, "why'd you quit?" 

Youngjae frowns and answers, "I just said it. For my studies."

Jaebum fidgets in his seat and presses his lips together. His eyes comb the study lounge and he waves to a few passing students.

"Youngjae, I know you better than that. You love working at the bar. It's one of the few times I've actually seen you so alive."

"It's just a job," Youngjae indifferently responds. "Only to last me through college."

He sifts out some worksheets from his bag and dumps them onto the table. Jaebum watches quietly as Youngjae skims through them.

"Well, anyway, I'm glad you quit."

Youngjae looks up, startled.

"It was getting to your head," Jaebum provides and reaches over to flip Youngjae's worksheet to the right page. "You were spending your salary buying liquor for your job! I thought I completely lost you when you said you wanted to work the day before our first assessment."

Youngjae attempts to counter but finds himself at a loss for words. He had indeed been given a choice to take a day off but he turned it down.

"I'm crazy, aren't I?" Youngjae wheezes out in resignation. His breath feels like smoke against his lips.

There is a brimming urge to drown himself in the awkward mixture of wails and cheers, topped off with the essential alcohol to let everything loose. He stops himself, eyes zeroing in on the graphs before him.

"We've come too far to give it all up because of a distraction," Jaebum offers, patting Youngjae on the shoulder.

The infinite symbols scrawled on his book dissolve at this moment into the curves of glasses and gurgling noises.

"It's either one or the other. Now that you've set your priorities straight, you'll be able to concentrate on what's most important."

Youngjae sinks back into the seat, nodding lightly. A phone vibration cuts through his thoughts and Jaebum jumps up from his chair.

"Damn it, I forgot I had to meet Jinyoung!"

He looks to Youngjae who swats him away with an exasperated smile. Jaebum salutes him gratefully.

"I'll be back soon! Don't leave without me!" Jaebum yells while sprinting off.

Upon disappearing from Youngjae's view, Youngjae picks out the card in his pocket and stares at the golden letters.  _[Vodka, Triple Sec, Lime, Cranberry](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cosmopolitan_%28cocktail%29)._

He misses the feel of a bottle neck against his fingers.

  
 

\--

  
 

The heart of Seoul brims with the jingles of sapphires and bass laughter. It spills over a desperate yearning into those who search for counterfeit to blend into the prosperous. The afternoon sun burns itself into the roads of Gangnam, gloating its influence amongst the men driving their Porsches.

Blazing asphalt stings the soles of Youngjae's feet as he wends through the bustling crowd. The horde diminishes as he treads further into Gangnam, distinguishing the rich from the downright wealthy. Jewelry stores line the streets, the occasional designer gowns and purses flittering by.

Youngjae stops in his tracks. The sunlight pricks his eyes but the unmistakable  _Cosmopolitan_ stands clear amidst the lackluster retail outlets. It reeks of class and affluence as though every of its corners are nimbly pinched to a lavish perfection. Tinted windows veil its interior, leaving an opacity enough to keep customers curious without turning them away.

A man stands by the door, clad in a formal suit. He looks to Youngjae with a tinge of reservation.

"May I help you, sir?" He asks the moment Youngjae approaches him.

"Yes, please. I'm looking for..."

Youngjae stares down at the name card and pronounces slowly, "Jung Daehyun."

The doorman raises his eyebrows upon hearing the name. "Excuse me, sir, but are you Yoo Youngjae?" His deep voice reverberates with interest. 

Youngjae nods and the doorman blinks in surprise before holding the door open for him to enter. Following Youngjae in, he looks Youngjae up and down in intrigue and offers a friendly smile.

Amber lights melt upon whisks of clarets and sprinkles of polished tiles, lulling him to bask in the suave jazz. The chilling air crumples against Youngjae's tensed shoulders and coaxes his eyes to daringly rake the place.

The bar is a stunning brew of unbeatable class, meshed with gentle trombones and addictive tempos. While the hordes on the streets of Seoul swarm hectically to catch up with the fast-paced modern city life, time seems to stop in this very room. There is no frenzy and no anxiousness.

 _So this is how the filthy rich live_ , Youngjae muses.

A group of staff are gathered by the bar. They swivel their heads the moment Youngjae enters and scrutinise him inquisitively.

Youngjae instinctively retreats, taking cover behind the doorman. A man with a pale face regards him with astonishment before an amused smile spreads across his lips.

"So, Daehyun picked you," he chuckles. He hops off the counter and saunters away.

A long moment passes with the sound of Youngjae's erratic heartbeat bleeding over the calming music. Daehyun finally emerges from the back with a raised brow.

"What is it?" He starts, right before his eyes land on Youngjae. He takes in Youngjae's presence, surprised, and a smirk dances its way onto his face.

  
 

\--

  
 

Under the dim lighting, Daehyun still emanates a queer sense of seniority despite his now obscured wrinkles. Red wine trickles into the glass as Youngjae's back sinks into leather, fingers twiddling.

Daehyun nudges the glass over, lips perpetually curled.

"It took you long enough to come," he sighs, taking a sip from his cup.

The wine in his glass looks faintly darker than in Youngjae's cup. Youngjae fiddles with the ends of his jacket, murmuring out a reply under Daehyun's sturdy gaze.

"Sorry. I had to consider."

"I almost doubted myself," Daehyun laughs after waving off Youngjae's apology. "Himchan's been threatening to kill me if he had to make another customised drink."

Youngjae briefly wonders if Daehyun always talks in this manner—like time ticks slower around him and the world is constantly waiting for him.

"You assumed I would take the job?" Youngjae asks.

Daehyun reclines into his seat, smile coiling languidly. "I had a feeling."

"That a student would give up his last two years of college to be a bartender?" Youngjae cynically answers, fingers tauntingly running down the stem of his glass.

"No. That  _you_ would," Daehyun chuckles.

"After one meeting?" Youngjae sceptically returns, not missing a beat,

Silence wanders between them as Daehyun continually stares at Youngjae with that unnerving, exact smile.

"I told you; I've met you a few times at the bar. The previous time was the first where I went alone—and showed my face to you."

"So, I suppose you've brought along one of your staff?" Youngjae recalls the fair man who had looked him in the eye and given him a sly grin of recognition.

Daehyun nods casually. "Himchan's the fill-in bartender, so it's only right I get his advice."

Youngjae bows his head and he surveys the room's interior. Shelves line the circular room, an array of wine and spirits stacked neatly amidst a prominent glow. Composure seems to bleed within the mortar, tender bossa nova cooing at them to relax against the soft cushion.

"Like what you see?" Daehyun asks. "It's not called the VIP room for nothing. I think you can estimate how much it costs to book it."

He glances at his watch and gulps down his drink. Daehyun closes his eyes for a moment, relishing in the alcohol, and stands, straightening out his blazer.

"The bar's open already. We'll settle the contract later; I'd like to show you how things- no,  _we_  work first."

Saxophone melodies escort them out the door. A few patrons have already gathered, settling down while the servers frolic around. From their exquisite dressing, it is easy to deduce their social status. Who else but the filthy rich can gather in the late afternoon to temper the heat?

"The one by the bar is Himchan; I'm guessing you know him," Daehyun provides.

Himchan's movements are nimble as he picks up several bottles at once, pouring shots simultaneously. A tall boy slips out and stocks the bar quickly, disappearing from sight as soon as he appears.

"That's Junhong. He's our [barback](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barback)."

Daehyun swivels on his feet and angles his chin at three women, all enthrallingly dressed and sashaying between tables with coy smiles. "Hana, Jieun, the one by the corner is Hyosung."

Another somewhat young boy meanders by, carrying a silver tray on his fingertips.

"That one's Jongup. And the one outside is Yongguk." Daehyun turns to face him and continues, "As you can see, we're a pretty small bunch, so it's good to have you on board."

They stand for a moment in the corner, watching observantly. Most of the staff look to be either younger or just a few years older than Youngjae, yet they present high professionalism and efficiency in their work.

"Why me?" Youngjae asks, tearing his gaze away from the ongoing scene. Daehyun does the same, languid smile climbing onto his cheeks once again.

"There are much better bartenders out there. Of all people, why a college student like myself?"

Daehyun ponders upon the question for a moment, stepping closer to Youngjae.

"Honestly?" Daehyun gazes intently at Youngjae much to his discomfort, stare darting from one pupil to another. "There's something about you that captivates me."

Youngjae peculiarly raises a brow. Daehyun sends him a light grin in return.

"But it's mostly because you're good at what you do," Daehyun states, to which Youngjae scoffs good-naturedly. He notices then Junhong approaching them discreetly and signals to Daehyun, whose face instantly contorts in displeasure.

"Daehyun," Junhong apologetically mumbles, Daehyun's frown clear for all to see. "Himchan wants to know when he can get off his shift."

Himchan's glare is provoking and indignant from over the counter, his lower lip jutting out. His middle finger peeks from underneath the bar.

"I told you not to leave the counter during working hours," Daehyun lightly chides, causing the tall boy to bend his head in guilt.

Daehyun sighs and squeezes the boy's shoulder. He turns to Youngjae with a daring smile. "You heard him. Are you up for it?"

The surge of epinephrine writhes his body like it's trampled for the past few weeks. He remembers the corners of his withdrawal form scratching the ridges of his trembling fingers. Like an addict plunged into relapses, he had gone off the deep end and left everything he'd worked for behind. 

 _Rum, Gin, Tequila, Vodka_. If Youngjae isn't ready now, when will he ever be?

  
 

\--

  
 

The veil over surreal morning disappears along with the overhead buzz, leaving a satisfying stillness in its place. The smell of Whiskey daunts the place, simmering between clatters of glassware. With the bar closed, Youngjae spins around to admire the shelves of endless high-end spirits. He has already memorised where most of the drinks are placed.

Everything seems to fall into place as he melts into the soothing atmosphere. It feels like a dream, even more so when he forgets what he gave up to get here.

He goes to rinse the dishes. Junhong swiftly intercepts him. "Let me do it," he offers readily, delicately bumping Youngjae away. 

Before Youngjae can protest, Himchan slides onto the counter, craning his neck into Youngjae's face.

"Took your damn sweet time making your choice, didn't you?" Himchan taunts while Youngjae retreats with a stunned look.

"I had to suffer for so long because of you," he grumbles, pointing an accusing finger at the other man.

"Leave him alone, Himchan." Yongguk emerges from the front, chuckling and shooing Himchan away. He tugs at his bow tie, relief permeating his face when he loosens his collar.

"How was your first day?" Yongguk settles onto one of the bar stools, staring up at Youngjae with interest.

"It was alright," Youngjae answers, finally letting out the breath that had unconsciously been hitched in his throat.

His hands graze past the smooth texture of the counter. It feels foreign without the usual cracks and markings, too impeccable like a fairytale standing on ends. "It's quite different from where I used to work," Youngjae notes.

"Elaborate," Hyosung probes, leaning over the bar with a set of gleaming eyes. Youngjae's fingers begin stroking the countertop once again, his lips pressed together thoughtfully.

Cosmopolitan is a place that reeks of a blinding perfection. The atmosphere is a stage of luxurious smiles and well-timed laughter, to the point it almost seems scripted. The deluxe props—[ _Johnnie Walker_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johnnie_Walker), [ _Dalmore_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dalmore_distillery), [ _Bacardi_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bacardi)—are a breathtaking sight for him, who has ventured fruitlessly into countless of liquor stores furnished with upscale brands.

The usual antiques of a middle-class bar are vanquished wholly—the inebriated tripping over the legs of stools, unruly quarrels and the jarring clash of distinctly obnoxious voices. He had not expected the gap between the average and the affluent to be so gargantuan. He almost feels barbaric.

"No one really sits at the bar," Youngjae decides on saying, moving over to help Junhong with stacking the bottles. "There's not much interaction between the customers and the bartender."

"You'll get used to it," Daehyun cuts in sleekly, planting himself onto a seat. "The rich come in here to feel good about themselves. Nothing else feels better than showing off how much money you have, so they're bound to get a table and bring a few friends."

Daehyun cocks his head to one side and smirks in approval. "You did well for your first day."

The compliment paints red down Youngjae's neck. He'd been nervous, to say the least, working in an upper-class lounge. It had been the first time he felt pressure rain down so dauntingly on his neck. Unlike in his academics, he had felt the actual yearning to do well.

"Hey, why'd you hire such a cutie?" Hyosung broaches, crossing her arms.

Light banter arises amongst the staff, teasing smiles worn on striking faces. They're a team of an outstanding standard, Youngjae thinks, from their appearance down to their skills. They're undoubtedly the needed accompaniments with the alcohol for the customers to have a good time, or more accurately, the hors d'oeuvre for the patrons.

A voice tugs him out of his musings. "Let me send you back home," Daehyun suggests, slipping off the chair, "before Himchan disfigures you." 

The remark causes Himchan to growl, the older man jabbing Daehyun with his foot.

The still brightly lit streets of Gangnam splashes past them, alive and thriving even in the wee hours of the morning. Daehyun's car has a strong aroma of cologne bleached into the cushions and a buoyant scent of rose perfume clinging onto the passenger seat.

They slow to a stop at a traffic junction. Daehyun turns to Youngjae.

"What do you think?" He hums amiably.

Youngjae's thumb runs over his fingernails. "The people are nice," he remarks.

"Even Himchan?" Daehyun teases, igniting a chuckle in the other man.

Green flashes. The engine spurs to life amidst the overbearing neon and Gangnam dissolves once again.

"What about the bar?" Daehyun questions, hand sliding off the steering wheel and onto his knee.

"Impressive," Youngjae replies. He recalls the numerous top-notch bar tools, imported from varying countries. He had felt more than privileged to just be able to touch them.

"Who runs the place?" Youngjae asks curiously, hand tapping to the blaring radio.

"What do you mean?" Daehyun returns.

"You're the manager, right? Who owns the business?" Youngjae questions.

Daehyun glances at him through the rear-view mirror and sends him a wry smile.

"I do."

Youngjae's brows arch in surprise and he studies Daehyun dubiously. "You're a year older than me," he points out, to which Daehyun shrugs indifferently.

Daehyun doesn't seem too keen on pursuing the topic, so Youngjae leaves it to gnaw on the back of his mind. The rest of the ride is spent making small talk. The manner in which Daehyun speaks is calming, but he can sense the distance and reservation twined within.

"Goodnight," Daehyun bids him farewell as Youngjae exits the car, "gorgeous."

Youngjae catches Daehyun's sly wink but before he can respond, Daehyun has already driven off.

Youngjae's new apartment is smaller than his room back in his university dorm, but a lot more spacious without a roommate. The emptiness clambers onto his back, but the taste of alcohol on his lips fills up the space adequately.

  
 

\--

  
 

For many, the vicissitudes of life are tamed only by a long night trapped at the local bar. There are tons of reasons why people drink—heartbreak, grief, anger, happiness, pleasure, et cetera. To some, drinking is a past time; to others, drinking is an anaesthetic to the cruel misery. Repetition breeds habit and sometimes, the absurd, masochistic desire to feel that sting down the throat relentlessly stays.

"A [mochatini](http://cocktails.about.com/od/vodkadrinkrecipes/r/mochatini.htm)," Himchan drawls as he takes a seat beside Yongguk by the bar, drumming his fingers expectantly.

Youngjae stops his preparations and shoots him a perplexed expression, much to Himchan's exasperation. He'd like to be on more friendly terms with the other man, but for now, it doesn't seem like it's possible.

"He wants you to make it for him," Yongguk explains, smacking Himchan on the back.

Youngjae nods stiffly and fumbles with the ingredients, shrivelling as Himchan stares daggers into his soul. Coffee liqueur, chocolate liqueur, vanilla vodka and a kiss of white chocolate to the circumference of the glass. He slides the drink over to Himchan who nods in favour.

"You're off the hook, rookie," Himchan declares after taking a sip, shivering in an alarming manner.

"He's a caffeine addict," Yongguk provides, chuckling at Youngjae's unsettled face.

"Yes, this is  _good_. Mm, oh god, so good." Himchan smacks his lips in delight, repeatedly moaning to himself like a mad man. Youngjae smothers back a chuckle as Yongguk knuckles Himchan's head with a sigh.

Youngjae shifts out spirits and shelves them below the counter for convenience, flashing a smile when Daehyun joins them by the bar. The manager leans over and observes contentedly.

"[Gin and Dry Vermouth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martini_%28cocktail%29)," Daehyun muses, tilting over more than necessary into Youngjae's personal space. "I'm guessing you figured out the most ordered drink."

"You should learn from him, Himchan. It's Youngjae's second day and he already knows what to prep beforehand," Daehyun points out.

Himchan crosses his legs, scowling at Daehyun. He retorts snidely, "You can't expect much from a fill-in who hates his job."

Daehyun ignores Himchan's hiss and steals a glimpse at his watch. "I have to leave for something important. I'll be back in a few hours."

He tosses the key to Yongguk and instructs, "Take care of the bar for me."

"Important? Like what, picking up girls?" Himchan snickers. Daehyun nudges him roughly.

"Don't ruin my image in front of Youngjae," he warns jokingly and strides off.

Grousing a few profanities under his breath, Himchan turns back to his drink. "I swear, if he wasn't our manager, I would have castrated him by now. He's not even sorry for torturing me all these months."

"Who was the last bartender?" Youngjae inquires offhandedly, washing up the used shaker.

Himchan frowns at him and hands over his empty glass to Youngjae. "You don't know? It's Daehyun."

Youngjae pauses in his steps and lifts his head in surprise. "Wow, I thought he was just the bar manager."

Himchan clicks his tongue, smiling affectionately in reminiscence. "You should've seen him back then. He was the  _crème de la crème_. He knew just how to hit the right spot."

"Why'd he stop?" Youngjae arches a brow, running a towel over the rinsed glass.

Himchan pauses momentarily and exchanges looks with Yongguk. He pulls his lips into a thin line.

"Drugs got him," Himchan mutters. "To be more specific, a girl got him."

Youngjae tilts his head, puzzlement pervading his eyes. The discomfort on Yongguk's and Himchan's faces has him backing down out of respect for their privacy.

He coughs to shatter the overhead silence. Strolling out to sit with Yongguk and Himchan, he asks, "Where's the rest?"

"The girls are almost always late," Yongguk informs him. "Junhong and Jongup are allowed to come in later, as long as they reach before we open."

"The kids need their sleep, huh?" Youngjae remarks with a smile. He had considered himself to be young before joining Cosmopolitan, but meeting Jongup and Junhong—three and four years younger than him respectively—had completely wiped away that notion.

"To Daehyun, only his precious Junhong does," Himchan mockingly counters with a loud scoff. "I had to screech at him before he gave Jongup the same privilege."

"You baby Jongup as much as Daehyun babies Junhong," Yongguk points out, teeth and gums showing. The cacophony of voices simmers in and Jieun's brash squeal has Himchan snickering remorselessly.

"We'll resume this chat later," Himchan finishes, pressing out the creases in his sleeves.

The pace of an elite bar undoubtedly differs from that of an average one. It is less hectic but the pressure to be spectacular incessantly jolts at Youngjae. Perhaps he'll get used to it, Youngjae thinks as Himchan waltzes through the room to serve a cluster of patrons. His hearty chortle resounds through the room as they proffer him a shot, not a single hint of unease on Himchan's face.

"He's good at what he does, isn't he?"

Daehyun tugs him out of his reverie, clipping a flute from the horde of glassware. The scent of old spice invades Youngjae's senses as Daehyun dances around him to swipe an unidentified green flask.

"Himchan, he's a real asset." He pours Absinthe into the glass, swirling it lightly for the uneven colouring to settle.

"Knows how to talk and make the customers laugh. They're always dumping cash into his pockets."

Youngjae nods absentmindedly as he shreds his stare from Himchan. Daehyun tops off his drink with chilled champagne, a milky green translucency spiralling within his crinkled hand.

"[Death in the Afternoon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_in_the_Afternoon_%28cocktail%29)?" Youngjae intones.

Daehyun hums, nipping at the cup's edge. He utters, "This drink was made by Ernest Hemingway, the author. Has the same name as one of his books."

"Did you read it?" Youngjae questions. 

Daehyun shakes his head, halting for a while to absorb the drink's taste. Youngjae notices Daehyun has added a massive amount of Absinthe, disproportionate to the usual recipe.

"My father did," he chokes a little when he begins, gulping down the lump in his throat. "He used to preach it to me every other day when I was a kid.  _What is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after_."

"Doesn't seem like very sound advice," Youngjae softly murmurs and acknowledges Jieun's gesture for three more shots. Daehyun pulls his lips to the side, evidently amused.

"It's not," he agrees, advancing closer and placing a hand over Youngjae's on the liquor bottle. Youngjae throws him a look of askance as Daehyun manoeuvres his arm, topaz gushing into the shot glasses.

"But it'll suffice as a principle to live by when you don't have much of a purpose," Daehyun concludes, releasing his grip.

The thought of having touched a sore spot guiltily crosses Youngjae's head. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

The light in Daehyun's eyes barely flicker, apathy of the darkest shade dyed into his irises. Everything about Daehyun is disquieting, despite how he seems to flow as slickly as vermouth under small talk.

"There's no need to be. My father was never the sanest of people," he brushes it off breezily. "Though, if you want to make it up to me..."

Daehyun's puffy lips lift to reveal a set of glistening white teeth, prickling breath pestering Youngjae's parted mouth.

"The grease's coming out of your face, Daehyun," Hana quips with Hyosung sniggering at a corner, hoisting up the tray of shots and meandering away.

Her interruption effectively allows Youngjae to sidestep Daehyun with an eye roll. Himchan's words continuously bite at the tip of his tongue but he ultimately shrouds his curiosity.

"Did your parents pass the business on to you?" Youngjae queries. Grey mist intrudes his sight, demonstrating a grand fouetté from the end of Daehyun's mouth.

"You can say that. I used their money to start up Cosmopolitan," Daehyun surmises.

"They allowed you to? This place looks like it costs a fortune," Youngjae gapes in awe.

Daehyun taps his cigarette and shrugs. "It's hard to ask for their permission when they're both dead."

Youngjae stands transfixed to the floor, deviating his gaze towards Daehyun. The insouciance etched into Daehyun's skin is hard to shake off, like all there is below it are numbed veins. Youngjae stares for a little too long than he had originally intended to.

"You're doing that apologetic face again."

Daehyun straightens up, his fingers ghosting over Youngjae's eyelashes. "Don't. If you keep this up, it'll be the death of me."

A robust voice rings past them and Daehyun instantly steps away, drawing out a bright smile to greet one of his familiar clients. Jongup makes sure to feign slipping while walking past Daehyun, erupting cackles in Himchan and a glower from Daehyun. Youngjae barely even realises he's laughing till Jongup sends him a pleased grin.

 _It'll work out_ , Youngjae believes as he picks up the bottle of tequila. Jaebum's smile bangs on his reverie incessantly but he shuts his eyes and lets the unhurried chuckles persuade him to stay.


	2. Chapter 2

Once more, the day shrivels to an end with dawn peaking, the fresh smell of ground cocoa sweeping the bar. The remnants of a [Daiquiri](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daiquiri) sits on Youngjae's skin as he sprawls himself out on a bar stool, leaning back against the counter.

His last customer had been particularly unsettling. The creases of his eyelids folded against his dark circles like the long, slow drag of fume from a cigar, and he spoke nothing but measured pleasantries.

He'd reminded Youngjae a little of Daehyun.

 _Are they all like that?_  Youngjae thinks but quickly shakes the thought away as Hana approaches.

"It's good to see you're getting more comfortable," she cajoles warmly. 

The glitter falls from her eyelashes as she rubs her face roughly, cocking her head backwards in relief. "Hey, do you think you can make me a [Screwdriver](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Screwdriver_%28cocktail%29)?"

"Sure."

The familiar chime rings under Youngjae's nimble fingers. He glances over at the rest of the staff, lounging around the seats and joking with one another.

"Daehyun seems to be pretty lax with the place," Youngjae mentions, handing Hana her drink.

The woman thumbs her coaster with a sultry laugh. "I'll be damned if I let that kid order me around." 

She slurps at her cocktail, smacking her lips. "Himchan was right; you do have godly hands. The last time I'd drunk something this good, Daehyun was still tending the bar."

Instinctively, Himchan's words dribble into Youngjae's mind. Youngjae flutters his lashes and bites his lower lip, wondering if it'd be too intrusive to ask what Himchan meant.

Hana smiles, gulping down the last of her Screwdriver and twirling the glass between her fingers. "Don't be shy. Ask me anything."

"Why... did Daehyun quit bartending?" Youngjae asks hesitantly, noting the way Hana winces.

She musters up a half-hearted smile. "You little weasel, throwing me something like that on the first try. Alright, ask me anything but that."

The subject echoes like a vague taboo. Youngjae grins apologetically, gaze darting to the youngest members of their team. Junhong and Jongup are making faces at one another, cutely flicking each other's forehead.

"How did Jongup and Junhong join?" Youngjae curiously asks.

Hana clicks her tongue, jutting out her lower lip. "I expected you to show a bit more interest in me, Youngjae. Am I that boring?"

She waves off Youngjae's flustered apologies, exuding a sonorous chuckle. "You're giving me a tough time, but a deal's a deal."

Hana tilts her head back, glancing at the two in question. "Well, Daehyun and Yongguk found Junhong in a convenience store downtown in Seoul. That crazy boy was just thirteen then, tried to steal a whole carton of beer and thought he'd get away with it. The manager caught him after a wild chase, passed him off as some petty thief and wanted to call the cops, but Daehyun stepped in and paid for the damages."

Junhong's presence brims with an undeniable innocence, starkly contrasting with what Hana has just said. Hana raises her arm slightly and taps down her skin.

"Yongguk told us that Junhong was totally covered in bruises. He kept crying, saying his father would beat him if he went home empty-handed. Daehyun took him in instantly. Patched him up, gave him a job here. I don't know the details, but I think all of us know how protective Daehyun is of Junhong."

Hyosung slides in at this moment and wiggles her eyebrows. "Who are we gossiping about?"

Hana scoffs, shoving her face away lightly. "I was just filling in Youngjae about our little kiddo's back story. That Daehyun takes really good care of him."

"Junhong?" Hyosung leans further in, nibbling on the tip of her thumb. "Oh yes, Daehyun's awfully protective of our little baby. When Daehyun quit, we suggested promoting Junhong to bartender. He's been our bar back for years so all he really needed was training; he's a smart boy. But Daehyun's adamant on not letting him go beyond the counter."

"Like a hung-up father who can't let go of his child," Hana mutters.

Youngjae glances towards Daehyun, resting at a table while on the phone heartily. "That's noble. Does that mean they're living together?"

"Oh, no. Junhong moved in with Yongguk after the incident." The peculiar words roll off Hyosung's tongue easily as she picks up a bar spoon, sneakily scooping up some sugar from the container. 

"Anyway," Hana continues, "no one really knows why Jongup's here, only that Himchan brought him over."

"Ladies," Himchan slithers over with Yongguk in tow, tossing the sullied tablecloth into the sink, "if you're going to talk about me, don't leave me out."

He slips the [highball glass](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highball_glass) out of Hana's manicured fingers, chugging down the rest of it. Hana reaches out to smack him but Himchan dodges speedily.

"Anyway, enough about them. We'd like to know more about our newbie." Hana leans forward, cleavage showing a little more prominently and igniting a blush in Youngjae's face. Jieun promptly dives in, crossing her legs as she rests her chin on her hands. 

Youngjae shrugs, putting away the last of the utensils. "There's nothing much to know."

Hyosung clicks her tongue, extending a long finger and dragging it down Youngjae's neck. "Come on; don't be a tease. What were you doing before you landed this job?"

"College," Youngjae mumbles.

The shambled memory of switching on his old phone a few days ago drizzles into his head. There'd been over three hundred messages, and he'd opened up just the first one. 

_Where the fuck are you? I swear to god, Youngjae, you better fucking come back or I'm going to kill you._

_How could you leave without even telling me?_

"So you graduated and took up bartending?" Jieun questions.

Youngjae shakes his head, discomfort flooding his nerves as the five pair of eyes scrutinise him. "I quit a while back. Was two years in."

"God. You just got up and went?" Jieun reclines in her chair. The scent of cologne and perfume assails Youngjae's mind, the mixture transitioning into a compound of familiarity.

"It felt like I'd burn out if I waited any longer," Youngjae truthfully admits. It'd been the fracture of bones, the cracking of thoughts and the flames of an undeniable inclination towards late hours and pings of glasses.

"That's true love right there," Himchan muses. "Yongguk and I actually waited until we got our degrees before snapping."

"You guys wanted to work in a bar?" Youngjae inquires. 

Himchan shakes his head abruptly, chuckling. "Nah. I just wanted to be in the service sector. Yongguk here," Himchan pauses, tugging Yongguk into a headlock, "didn't want an office job. So when Daehyun wanted to start up a bar, we joined him. Mostly for the heck of it."

"How long ago was that?" Youngjae questions, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

Himchan pats his fingertips in thought. "Four years ago. Daehyun was eighteen."

"Eighteen?" Youngjae gawks at the faces before him, disbelief splashing him like that of stiff martini.

"Daehyun's a psychopath. Reckless kid with too much money on his hands," Himchan provides, inciting a chorus of laughter.

"I can hear you."

Daehyun stalks over, swaying smoothly in his steps. He jingles the car keys clipped between his fingers, scooping Youngjae tightly by the waist and leading him out the door.

"Bring him back here in one piece, Daehyun," Himchan drawls. "I'm not substituting as bartender anymore."

  
 

\--

  
 

"What's bothering you?"

Youngjae sobers up from his daze, unfocused eyes setting their gaze on the windscreen. Daehyun wriggles his fingers resting on the steering wheel, cocking his head one side to the other.

"You're fitting in very well, considering we've been together for years," Daehyun muses. His free hand lands itself on Youngjae's knee, movement comfortable like it's clockwork routine.

"Don't mess up your pretty face with a frown."

Youngjae shakes his head, shutting his eyes for a moment when Daehyun tenderly runs a hand up his leg. "It's nothing," he breathes. 

Kenny G fills the space between them, relaxing melody massaging all tension away from his shoulders. Youngjae glances at the ashtray, several cigarette buds crushed within the slot.

"It must be tough."

Daehyun's hand travels up dangerously close to Youngjae's zipper, kneading the inside of his thigh. Youngjae holds his breath, quelling the shiver building up in him.

"Leaving behind your friends."

Youngjae edges his eyes towards Daehyun, the man's lips quirking unhurriedly.

"Treat it like you've gone on a one-way trip to Manhattan."

He turns into the apartment complex, the weak glimmer of overhead lampposts leading the way.

"Bustling streets, lights everywhere, the city that never sleeps. Are you able to picture it?"

Youngjae purses his lips, blinking swiftly as he tries to visualise the cityscape. Daehyun pulls up at Youngjae's block and shifts closer to him.

"Here, let me help you."

He puts a hand over Youngjae's eyes and darkness moulds itself into a perfect canvas for Youngjae's imagination. He envisages a throng of people, a backpack over his shoulders and the surrounding heat igniting a bristle in his neck hair.

"You're on your own, so there's no one to tell you what to do." Daehyun's voice is as smooth as wine trickling down his lips. "But that's not a problem, since you know where you want to go."

Youngjae wants to question him, but the way Daehyun speaks makes him seem like an omniscient narrator. His velvety voice is calming, coaxing him to sink into his fabricated assurance.

"You are starting afresh." Daehyun's hot breath grazes Youngjae's ear, the sensation oddly enthralling. "Think of yourself being on top of the empire state building, independent and free. Can you feel that high?" 

Youngjae lays further back into the cushion, the fabric of the seat disappearing from underneath his skin and the chilly wind breezing past him. Every beat of the sirens rings in sync to the flashes of neon and whoosh of vehicles, the unceasing chatter as the backtrack.

"Yeah," Youngjae whispers, the whirr of the engine still buzzing in the silent space. Manhattan draws out fifty square miles and bleeds into static in his mind.

He made the right choice to leave. 

"That's good," Daehyun breathes, and warmth materialises against Youngjae's mouth. Youngjae barely registers the thumb on his chin before Daehyun's tongue slips between his lips, skillfully exploring every inch of his mouth.

The fraudulent exhilaration melts Youngjae into Daehyun's grasp and he tilts his head to match Daehyun's angled lips. They part amidst the start of a new song, bare piano melody resounding from the speakers.

Daehyun removes his hand from Youngjae's eyes and Youngjae flutters his eyelids open. Daehyun's irises are glazed, a contented smile hanging from his face.

"I'm sorry," Daehyun chuckles, shaking his head lightly. "I couldn't stop myself. Not when it's with you."

He gently grasps Youngjae's hand, squeezing it. "I'm here for you, alright? Now, go get a good night's sleep. Don't stress yourself."

Still dazzled, Youngjae distractedly nods and exits the car. Daehyun sends him one last warm smile before cruising off, cool blue light trailing along obscure asphalt.

Daehyun tastes of a peculiar blend between absinthe and an unidentifiable, bitter flavour. Youngjae can, however, discern the after-taste to be addiction.

  
 

\--

  
 

"Get me a whisky [on the rocks](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/On_the_rocks). The very best."

Raven teems at the edges of Youngjae's vision and he raises his head, eyeing the man plopping himself down on a stool while setting his briefcase on another. He sheds his blazer and loosens his tie, meeting Youngjae's stare with a smile.

"Celebration, sir?"

The sensation of speaking winds up unfamiliar; it has been a while since a customer sat by the bar.

The man cajoles, pupils gleaming, "Wedding anniversary. And drop the 'sir', son."

Youngjae hums, watching the old-fashioned glass gurgle with burnt umber between ice cubes. "[Yamazaki Sherry Cask](http://www.masterofmalt.com/whiskies/yamazaki/yamazaki-sherry-2013-whisky/)," he provides.

The man grapples at his drink with a bemused scoff. "Well, aren't you going to congratulate me?"

The complex intertwine of dried fruits, logs and smoke swells under their noses. Youngjae glances fleetingly to the silver ring on the man's wrinkled finger, then to the empty seat next to him.

"Hey, being alone isn't bad," the man interjects swiftly, scrunching his lips to one side. "For all you know, I could have gotten out of a horrible marriage." 

"Congrats. I'm happy for you," Youngjae replies with a small smile. "It's nice to enjoy some alone time every now and then."

"You bet it is." The man rolls up his sleeves and puffs out a long breath. The blade-thin ridges beneath his mouth evaporates into his skin, lips folding into a tight line. He twirls the reddish fluid in his glass.

"Smells like Christmas," he concludes, inspecting his drink with a whiff. "Like a family gathered around the fireplace. Kind of mocking, if you ask me."

"Shall I get you something that smells lonely instead?" Youngjae returns cheekily.

The man's eyes narrow into slits and he cackles in amusement. He smells purely of clean laundry and nothing more, no fabricated scents meant to impress under stitched into the edge of his skin.

"I'll pass. So, you talked about having some alone time. I guess you agree that being alone isn't bad?" The man questions.

"That depends," Youngjae supposes, catching Himchan's signal to him from across the bar, "on why you're alone."

Youngjae pops open an emerald bottle of champagne, six glasses gushing with pale gold. Jieun paces over, hoisting the tray and casting the sole patron by the bar a coy grin.

The man quaffs the whisky with gusto, pausing abruptly to savour the sweet and sour clash on his tongue. "Care to explain?"

"I think..." Youngjae muses, the man's slackened gaze trained on him. "It boils down to whether you choose to be alone or if you're forced to."

"It can't be that clear cut," the man protests with a dissenting expression. "Choosing to be alone doesn't necessarily make it a good thing."

"Yes," Youngjae acknowledges, tinge of playfulness in his voice. "But you made the decision."

The customer chuckles, snivelling his nose. "Smart ass. Are you a fresh college grad?"

"I dropped out this year," Youngjae coughs. 

The patron nods and downs his whisky. "So it's not just that you've got a baby face. You ended up here, then?"

"Dropped out to be here," Youngjae quietly intones, the man glancing up from his drink.

"Did you have a good run?" He inquires.

"I... was top in the cohort."

The man sways in time with the lounge jazz, the bass singing inciting a pleased hum from him. "That's brave. Not a lot of people have the courge to chase after their dream. You know, when I was young, I wanted to be a musician."

He fondly reminisces, "In high school, I'd busk by the school gates and get yelled at by the headmaster for the ruckus. It never wore me down. Every penny I got was an encouragement." 

The nebulous grey beneath the man's eyelids ebbs away as he dips his head. "But what did, though, was an opportunity. A solid one."

The man puts out his hands with a broad smile as though showcasing himself. "And here I am."

Red begins to brew above the man's jawline as he rubs his temple lightly. "Dreams are funny things, aren't they? Not the sleeping kind, but the  _what you want_ kind."

"I thought about it," the man raises his voice in eagerness, bringing up his hands to gesticulate. "See, they're always going to be tainted. The dream grows in your mind, all pure, but you'll never be able convey it in its raw form."

Youngjae inclines his head in curiosity as the patron's pupils spark. "Once you throw it out, the whole thing becomes distorted."

"Let's say you wanna be an artist," the man avidly says, nearly knocking over his cup. "You wanna paint trees, birds, whatever. It's all peaches and cream but once you put it into the context of our reality, try to work towards it, you've got so many things to worry about."

"If you can make it according to standards, if people like your stuff, if you'll earn enough to support yourself, so on, so forth. Do people like this? Is this too plain?" He rests his elbows against the table. "Doesn't come out right anymore."

Youngjae thoughtfully nods, musing over the man's words.

"Now that I think about it," the man mulls, reclining into the bar stool with puckered lips, "it's impossible."

"You try to pitch your ideas to someone else, but you've got to compromise on it with the limits of your expressions too. Painting, writing, dancing... It's never gonna be exactly as how you thought of it. No one's gonna get the full experience like you did," the customer finishes.

He pokes an olive in the jar with a toothpick and nibbles on it.

"That was deep," the man praises himself, nodding with an accomplished smile. Youngjae laughs, the patron beaming proudly. 

"What's the use of getting it out, anyway? Should just leave it untouched in the brain," the man adds.

"But that's the fun of it, right? Making your dream come true," the bartender returns, his eyes roaming over to Daehyun with a female client.

The man nudges him with his glass and lightheartedly squints at him.

"You," he grumbles and leans his head against his propped up hand. "Just can't let me have my time to shine, huh?"

"Hey, that's not true," Youngjae answers, light tone bouncing in his syllables. "What you said was interesting."

The man casts him a pleased look as his head lolls around, knocking the old-fashioned glass against the countertop. "I'm a genius whenever I drink. But when I wake up and remember the shit I said, I realise how stupid I sound."

"Was it because of the ring?" The patron queries, words beginning to slur against the ethanol. He brings up his palm and gazes at the shimmer of silver. "It seems like too many people can tell I haven't let go yet."

The hours past midnight is wasted on a broken man, mighty stature leaving no room for doubt. It's yet another tragedy in the monochrome city of a workaholic who never counted the hours away from his wife. Shattered skylines, awful city lights, the insufferable jet lag and incessant white noise. Promises that life would be better in a bigger house and an emptier bed. She could not take it anymore.

The weight collapses from Youngjae's shoulders the moment Yongguk shuts the door behind him. Romantic love has always been a distant concept to him between friends with benefits arrangements and academic commitments, but he decides after hearing the customer's account that it's like an tightrope. Love is fragile, and in a split second of giving too much or too little, everything comes crashing down into debris.

"Seems like you had a good chat with the client," Daehyun remarks as he swings by.

Youngjae's eyelids fall but he manages out a coherent response. "Mm, I did."

"You must be tired. It's not easy being the listening ear and shouldering someone else's problems." Daehyun's voice runs like endless vermouth on Sunday nights. He strides over, large hand tucking itself under Youngjae's jaw and thumb grazing Youngjae's dark circle.

"Maybe I should postpone the celebration..." Daehyun mumbles to himself, causing Youngjae's eyes to snap open.

"Celebration?"

The rest of the crew assemble by the bar, nodding in delight.

"Your welcome party, kiddo. We were going to surprise you," Yongguk cajoles, gummy grin illuminating the room.

"I put on eyeliner specially for the occasion," Himchan declares, batting his eyelashes slowly for everyone to observe.

Hyosung snorts. "Who are you trying to impress?"

"Definitely not you," Himchan retorts, angling himself to face Youngjae.

"Hey, babe," he greets with a sleazy smile and wiggles his eyebrows. Daehyun immediately hauls Youngjae away by the hips.

"Guys, it's alright. I don't need a welcome party," Youngjae hastily insists.

Himchan makes a face, emanating a disturbing mix of a whale's sob and a banshee's shriek. "But-"

"He's tired," Daehyun interjects, gazing at Youngjae with concern. "Would you rather celebrate another day?" He asks gently.

Flustered, Youngjae shakes his head. "I'm not tired. I just-"

"See, he's not tired," Himchan proclaims.

Daehyun turns a deaf ear to Himchan and leans nearer to Youngjae. Their breaths mingle like the mesh of moonlight and sunrise in early dawn. Daehyun's eyes are bloodshot, his pupils melted into his irises.

"Are you really okay?"

"Yeah, I am," Youngjae murmurs. 

Daehyun nods, reassured. He doesn't give Youngjae another chance to interrupt by spinning on his heels, walking towards the door. "I'll be heading out first to clean up my place. Take care of Youngjae, got it?"

Himchan mockingly mimics Daehyun, flinging his hands side to side comically. Jieun smacks him on the crown and ambles away to clean up.

They close the bar in less than an hour, Jongup and Junhong absolutely exhilarated for the party. They split into two groups, Hana, Jongup and Junhong in Yongguk's car while Youngjae, Jieun and Hyosung leave in Himchan's car.

"They're really excited, aren't they?" Youngjae climbs into the front seat and coos as Jongup and Junhong bounce up and down in the maroon vehicle in front.

"It's because Daehyun has a theatre room," Himchan grouses. "Kids. Can't please them. You'll never see Jongup that happy when it comes to going home."

"Your apartment sucks, Himchan," Jieun points out indifferently from the back.

Himchan draws in a breath, visibly offended. "I'm so sorry I'm not swimming in money like Daehyun. I can't just get a villa any time I want, Jieun."

Himchan throws her a warning look as she parts her lips to retaliate, reminding her he's in control of the steering wheel. Youngjae buckles up and Himchan starts the car, corny air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror.

"You and Jongup live together?" Youngjae hums. Himchan grunts in response, blatantly still displeased at Jongup's enthusiastic reaction. 

"Whatever. Anyway, you're lucky, Youngjae," he babbles, cruising behind Yongguk's van and simultaneously changing to another radio station.

"I had to share my welcome party with two other idiots. We had to sit by a stinky river and set off firecrackers. Worst of all, Daehyun ate the entire cake while Yongguk and I tried to stomp out the fire."

Youngjae bursts out laughing in disbelief. "He did that? Seriously?"

Himchan smiles fondly at the memory, bobbing his head to the pop rock playing. "To be fair, the cake was pretty small. We were seriously struggling, so we could only get one about the size of my palm."

"Ouch," Youngjae chuckles. "No wonder he ate the whole thing."

"Can't believe it, can you? Now that Cosmopolitan's so posh. Truthfully, the place is completely different from what it used to be."

"Cosmopolitan was a nightclub," Hyosung chimes from the back, Youngjae's brows arching in surprise. "Bet you didn't expect that, right?" 

Himchan scratches his chin and merrily reminisces, "Yeah. Yongguk was the DJ; Daehyun was the bartender and manager; I just helped out wherever I could."

"Woah, you're not kidding?" Youngjae returns. To think Cosmopolitan, crafted from gentle auburn lights and lustrous bossa nova, used to flaunt garish lights and raucous club music...

"It was really messy back then," Himchan recounts with a grin. "There were just so many people from all walks of life. Every night was an eye opener."

"You'd see prostitutes trying to get business around the tables, people going to third base on the counter and drug dealers everywhere." Himchan cringes at the memory, hissing. "I had to keep watch for anyone spiking drinks. Never punched so hard before in my life."

"When we grew too big, the girls and kids joined us," Himchan finishes. 

Hyosung throws out a peace sign, slipping out her phone to take a selfie. She brags, "I brought in most of the regulars. They'd watch me wherever I go. Perverts."

"Yeah, right. That's bullshit. It was all Daehyun," Himchan clarifies, sniggering when Hyosung puffs indignantly. "People from the other side of Korea came all the way just for Daehyun's drinks."

"He sucked at managing the club, so Yongguk and I were always at the back counting profits and losses. We lost a lot of money because of him but he was amazing behind the bar."

The truck behind has its headlights on and Himchan curses, Jieun doing him the favour of flipping off the driver.

"Always the life of the party, you know what I'm saying?" Himchan chuckles, nostalgia worn affectionately over his mien.

Youngjae nods and reclines back into the headrest. They've entered a more secluded part of town, bungalows adjoined back to back like cards in a deck. 

If Daehyun had been that good at bartending, why did he quit?

Youngjae files away the thought when Himchan glimpses at him, waiting for a response.

"When did you guys decide to change Cosmopolitan?" Youngjae inquires.

"It was out of the blue," Jieun informs. "One day, Daehyun suddenly said he was going to revamp the place. Make it into a high-class lounge bar. Don't ask me why."

"Sounds spontaneous," Youngjae remarks.

Jieun melts into a mischievous grin. "What, is that attractive to you?"

"He's no good for you, Youngjae," Hyosung intrudes, swaying her wavy hazelnut hair. "Daehyun is the epitome of all manwhores. He has a new girl clinging to his arm every few days."

Jieun readily agrees as she folds an arm behind her head. "Total slut. He's slept with all of us, besides the kids."

"Even Yongguk. He never confessed it, but we all know Yongguk bottomed for him," Hyosung pipes in, looking towards Himchan for confirmation.

The waiter blows out a draggy breath, reluctantly nodding.

"Why can't Yongguk just come clean with it?" Jieun guffaws.

"Hey, you've got to understand that Yongguk's straight," Himchan defends, disgruntled at his best friend being mocked. "Which straight dude wants to admit he opened his back door for his boss?"

"Now that you put it that way..." Jieun contorts her face in empathy, knuckle against her lower lip.

"Well, it was funny anyway," Hyosung cackles without remorse. "Daehyun started treating Yongguk like a girl the few weeks leading up to that. Yongguk got so scared he stopped coming to work."

"Oh my god," Jieun brashly guffaws, slapping her thigh. "Remember when Daehyun got him roses?"

"Don't remind me!" Hyosung chortles and clutches her stomach, breathing harshly as the tears well up. "Daehyun was all,  _you're as pretty as the flowers_ , and Yongguk got so upset he went to the back and cried."

Youngjae smothers back a cackle as the two ladies burst into shrill laughter, collapsing onto each other. Himchan begins muttering under his breath and yells, "Alright, alright! Shut up already. We're here."

The tour down the driveway has Youngjae parting his lips in awe at the scenery. Lights line the cobbled path against a lawn of lush green, tranquilly embraced by starry, crushed nightfall.

"Impressive, huh?" Jieun nudges Youngjae out of the car, stretching her limbs in relief. "Guess if you hook up with Daehyun, by extension, this place is yours."

"Youngjae's too sweet to be a sugar baby, Jieun," Hyosung cuts in, squeezing Youngjae's bicep. "Unlike you."

Hyosung's high heels clack against the floor as she squeals, scurrying away from Jieun. Youngjae stifles back a laugh, returning his gaze to the gorgeous two-storey villa basking in its ambient luminance.

"Don't listen to them," Himchan says suddenly, startling the bartender. "Daehyun can't keep it in his pants, yeah, but he's not a bad person."

The moment Himchan strolls in front, Jieun hops towards Youngjae. "He totally is," she whispers with narrowed eyes.

"Do I need to tell our boss about this, Jieun?"

The woman instantly straightens up, scampering after Himchan with rushed apologies. At this moment, Daehyun waltzes out with his blazer and tie off. He flashes a dashing smile towards Youngjae and holds the ochre door open.

"Our guest of honour has arrived," Daehyun proclaims, end of his speech sizzling into a purr.

"Yeah, and the rest of us are all invisible," Hyosung mutters and brushes past Daehyun, plopping herself down onto the ivory leather couch.

"It's good to see you again," she whines, rubbing her face against the matte material as she switches on the karaoke system. 

Yongguk pulls up at the gates at this instant, Junhong and Jongup abruptly barrelling out of the car and into the house.

"Junhong really misses your place," Yongguk mentions as they enter, Daehyun's arm sitting on Youngjae's lower back. They turn to gaze at the two youngest, Jongup and Junhong hurriedly diving for the buffet set out.

"Maybe you should let him stay with you again. Household bills aren't cheap for me," Yongguk heaves.

"I can always give you a bonus," Daehyun returns easily.

Hyosung snaps up at this, directing an accusing finger. "If he's getting a bonus for doing nothing but standing around, I better be getting twice of it."

Yongguk treks towards her and unapologetically knuckles her head, inciting a whine in Hyosung. The two argue back and forth as Youngjae observes, muffling back a soft laugh.

"When are you going to start making drinks?" Hana emerges from the bathroom, throwing herself onto the sofa. Himchan grabs Youngjae from Daehyun's clutch and walks him to the living room, tossing out a deck of cards.

"Saving the best for last, Hana," Daehyun says, winding to the kitchen. He clangs down a tray of chalky cocktails onto the coffee table and hands them each a plate of noodles and smoked shrimps.

"Feel free to take whatever you want," Daehyun announces, settling by Youngjae's side and once again pulling him into his hold.

"Hey," Daehyun warns the moment Junhong reaches for a cup.

Jieun rolls her eyes, grabbing the drink for Junhong and thrusting it into his hand. "Come on, Daehyun. Stop playing mummy and let up."

Daehyun knits his brows together as Junhong stares back meekly. He heaves in annoyance and finally relents with a nod. "One cup only. Finish your food first and we'll drink together."

"Same goes for you, Jongup," Himchan instructs, the two boys excitedly placing their glasses by their side. The chatter kindles between warm smiles and incandescent laughter, Youngjae easing himself into the growing familiarity. 

"My chauffeurs are stationed outside, so call them anytime you want to go," Daehyun mentions, lifting a glass upon noting the two youngest have finished their meals. The condensation streaks lazily down his palm while the group quietens down, authority dashing through the air with the raise of a hand.

"I'm happy to announce that profit has been going up, because our new bartender," Daehyun pauses to stare fondly at the man beside him, "Youngjae, has been doing an excellent job. And because Himchan sucks at bartending."

Himchan attempts to claw at Daehyun's face but the latter dodges, winding Youngjae along with him and into his chest.

"To our hard work, Youngjae's arrival and the boost of success he's brought with him!"

Heaved arms, unison cheers and the noisy tinkle of cups crystalises Daehyun's words into sweet ovation. Youngjae sips at his drink, savouring the delectable taste on his tongue. _[Lime Margarita](http://mexicanfood.about.com/od/bebidasdrinks/r/LimeMargaritas.htm)._

"This is nothing," Hana states upon noticing Youngjae's expression. "Trust me, once you taste Daehyun's  _real_  cocktails, you'll never go back."

Daehyun waves away Hana's compliments and inches closer to Youngjae. "Don't flatter me, Hana," he laughs, intentionally breathing down Youngjae's neck.

"Junhong," Daehyun calls, the youngest snapping his head up. "I bought the 3D gaming headsets for you and Jongup."

"The ones I told you about?" Junhong shoots upright, face bright with glee once Daehyun nods. "But I thought they weren't out yet!"

"They're on the shelves by the screen. Go try them out," Daehyun laughs good-naturedly. Utterly thrilled, the two boys bolt down the hallway and disappear from sight.

"Well, aren't you nice?" Youngjae jests, leaning further against Daehyun as the alcohol unwinds the knots in his stomach.

Daehyun chuckles and whispers Youngjae's ear, "Certainly am. They're the best in the market, you know."

"You can show off later, Daehyun. Let's see how our rookie fairs," Himchan teases as he shuffles his cards, throwing the first to Youngjae.

Hours rattle away with loud yells and dirty jokes, and Yongguk ends up thrown into the pool as forfeit. He pretends to drown and Himchan jumps in to save him, only to be pulled under by Yongguk. Expectedly, Himchan chases Yongguk around the garden with an umbrella and manages to smack him several times.

Hyosung and Jieun are knocked out against the sofa. Hana grunts and slings her microphone to Jieun.

"Everyone's wasted, Daehyun," she complains. "Are you waiting for me to be on the floor, then you'll make me something?"

Daehyun acquiesces with an amused expression, roaming over to his kitchen bar and swinging Youngjae along. He nudges him into a seat and winds over to the shelves.

"Finally, I've been waiting forever for this," Hana cheers, triumphantly throwing a fist in the air. "Guys, Daehyun's gonna do his magic!"

Himchan pops in with a hum from the porch with Youngguk spluttering in his chokehold, both dripping wet. Daehyun chuckles and tosses over a towel.

"The usual for everyone?" He hums lowly.

"I want a [Peppermint Martini](http://allrecipes.com/recipe/peppermint-martini/)," Jieun blubbers from the living room. Daehyun salutes and opens up his cabinet, searching for his ingredients.

"Do I get to order too?" Youngjae gushes, the prominent buzz in his bloodstream spawning staccato beats on his skin.

"No, gorgeous," Daehyun answers, fingers grazing Youngjae's hand on the counter. "I've got a surprise for you."

The way Daehyun navigates around his kitchen is quite endearing, Youngjae thinks. It's alike to a splendid performance, smooth tosses of bottles and charming, flirtatious grins making Youngjae's heart waver. Perhaps this is what draws so many to Daehyun: his unruffled, composed demeanour and assuring, unbreakable smile. The manner in which he behaves makes it seem like the world moulds to his temperament. 

Daehyun places the last touch on Youngjae's drink as Youngjae peers curiously at his craftwork. Daehyun sets down the drink in front of Youngjae, the bartender scrutinising it with astonishment. It is a [pousse-café](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Layered_drink)cocktail composing of sparkling yellow on top, ocean blue in the middle and chalky transparency on the bottom. Above sits two raven leaves, the rim coated with black sugar.

The martini glass sits on a plate exquisitely decorated with emerald leaves and ruby rose petals, magnificence and effulgence drawn from start to finish. The sight is absolutely riveting.

"Do you like it?" Daehyun's voice drops a pitch lower, sending shivers down Youngjae's spine.

"It's... beautiful," Youngjae breathes, amazement clear in his eyes.

Daehyun dissolves into a contented smile and wipes his hands on a cloth. "I call it  _Alice_."

Youngjae lifts his head, blinking. "Alice in Wonderland?"

Nodding, Daehyun edges the drink further towards Youngjae. "Don't you want to try it?"

Afraid to approach the masterpiece set right before of him, Youngjae hesitantly reaches out but pulls back at the last moment. "I don't want to ruin it," Youngjae confesses. 

Daehyun laughs quietly, taking Youngjae's hands. "With such pretty hands, you couldn't," he whispers. "So I'll do it for you."

He retrieves a bar spoon and walks out, sitting by Youngjae's side. He mercilessly stirs his creation and the coloured layers destructively coalesce, much to Youngjae's disappointment. A viridescent drink emerges from the swirling mix, a glittering spark suspended within.

Youngjae hoists up the drink to his lips and cautiously sips. It's sweet with a tinge of spice, icy cool tingling his tongue. Youngjae lets out a soft moan, immersing himself in the sensation before the bitter, stinging after-taste sets in. Snapping his eyes open, Youngjae takes a swig to drown it out, melting back into the enthralling flavour.

"Is it nice?" Daehyun's eyes are half-lidded and suddenly extremely near to Youngjae.

Youngjae nods, greedily reveling in the cocktail. "It's amazing," he wheezes. He promptly frowns when he drains the glass, licking his lips to gather the remnants of Alice.

Daehyun places a hand on Youngjae's thigh.

"You've got some sugar on your lips," he whispers, leaning excessively into Youngjae's personal space. The universe seems to bleed out with the spice on Youngjae's tongue, ardour escalating with Daehyun's faint breaths. Time flows slower for that peculiar instant as their eyes lock and Daehyun's mouth moves in a splendid manner.

"...Let me get that for you."

Daehyun closes the gap between them, his tongue washing away the hostile kick in Youngjae's mouth and replacing it with a growing passion. Daehyun grips onto Youngjae's waist and pulls him closer, ravishing his mouth fervidly. Daehyun's presence is consuming without an ounce of demand and his rousing heat has Youngjae clutching back direly.

"Oh god," Himchan squawks with irk from the other side of the room, but Youngjae is too caught up in Daehyun's eyes to notice. 

Daehyun twirls him down the corridor, squeezing Youngjae's behind with carnivorous desire. "Let yourself out, guys," he announces and throws open his bedroom door, nudging Youngjae in and locking it behind him. 

Instantly, their hands find each other, them falling onto the bed and resuming their lip lock with thrice the fervour. Daehyun feels better than the alcohol pumping through his veins, hot skin against flexible joints and the expert touch of a lifetime. Daehyun presses Youngjae down into the mattress and kisses so hard Youngjae gasps deliriously when they part.

Daehyun nimbly unbuttons Youngjae's dress shirt, mouth meandering a trail down the boy's chest. He pauses at the sensitive spots where Youngjae jerks, simultaneously massaging Youngjae's crotch as he comes undone.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this," Daehyun purrs, biting down on Youngjae's neck to mark him.

Daehyun unbuckles Youngjae's belt and tugs down his jeans, tauntingly groping Youngjae through his underwear while kissing down his hipbone. Youngjae exudes a pleading whine as he weaves his fingers through Daehyun's hair. He bucks his hips into Daehyun's hand, desperate for the intoxicating friction.

Finally, Daehyun sparingly pulls off Youngjae's underwear. His lips make contact with Youngjae's tip and Youngjae throws his head back, churning out a cry of bliss. Daehyun's tongue runs down Youngjae's shaft and eagerly takes him whole. The enticing heat breaks Youngjae in and he claws at the sheets, hooking his legs around Daehyun's neck. Massaging Youngjae's thighs, Daehyun hollows his cheeks and shoves in Youngjae's member to the back of his throat.

When he deems he's pleased Youngjae enough, Daehyun ascends and pulls Youngjae to sit on him. He grasps Youngjae's hips and grinds up into Youngjae's behind feverishly. Youngjae fumbles with Daehyun's shirt and reveals Daehyun's lusciously toned chest, fervently tracing down his tanned contours. Climbing down and ridding Daehyun of his lower garments, Youngjae teasingly strokes Daehyun's agitated erection, fondling with his scrotum.

Daehyun grunts and guides Youngjae's head towards his member. He emits a low growl when Youngjae swallows him up, hot moisture soaking his sore skin. He thrusts into Youngjae's mouth as his eyes roll back in ecstacy, vein throbbing down his cock.

Popping Daehyun's shaft out of his mouth, Youngjae clambers over Daehyun and daringly steals a long, slow kiss. Their wet erections rub against one another, shaky moans intermingling along the bridge of saliva between their lips. In need to assert dominance, Daehyun switches their positions and they continue gyrating their hips against one another.

Daehyun grabs the lube on his desk and flips Youngjae over, caressing Youngjae's behind and parting his cheeks. His tongue experimentally glides a streak down and Youngjae groans into the pillow, inciting a smirk on Daehyun's face. He prods his tongue into Youngjae's hole, exploring slowly as Youngjae cries out in pleasure. His skin blazes with fire, reminiscent of the first burn of alcohol down his throat and the budding craving for more.

Daehyun replaces his tongue with a wet finger, prodding around to find Youngjae's prostate. Youngjae chokes when Daehyun hits the jackpot, adding more digits and scissoring Youngjae's hole hungrily. Daehyun rolls Youngjae onto his back and attacks his battered lips, Youngjae's palpitating heart drumming in time to Daehyun's furious grinding.

Lifting Youngjae's legs, Daehyun presses a tender kiss to Youngjae's lips and gently pushes in. Youngjae claws at Daehyun's back, attempting to even out his panting and adjust to Daehyun's size.

"Relax, gorgeous," Daehyun soothes, nibbling at Youngjae's earlobe to distract him. After a moment, Youngjae finally nods in consent and Daehyun begins to thrust in.

Youngjae tilts his head back, letting Daehyun suck on his adam's apple as his fingers tremble. He releases a whimper when the pleasure starts to overcome the pain, pushing himself down onto Daehyun's member. Youngjae twines his hands around Daehyun's head, connecting their lips as Daehyun thrusts harder.

Unravelling himself against Daehyun's thrilling warmth, Youngjae softly begs for Daehyun to move faster. Daehyun gladly heaves Youngjae up against the headboard, holding him steady and pounding him into the wall.

The world begins to spin as Youngjae cries out in pure ecstasy, grappling on to Daehyun while his head bumps against the pillar. His vision falters like champagne flutes shuddering against one another and lucidity bleeds out into sheer pleasure.

"You're so beautiful," Daehyun whispers, the pining in his cloudy eyes gleaming. Daehyun's lips are smooth and send an unbelievable current through Youngjae's skin, Youngjae losing himself in lip balm and the remaining alcohol. He writhes under Daehyun's weight, Daehyun's deep groans creating a symphony that smashes Youngjae into overdrive.

Jerking in Daehyun's hold, Youngjae wheezes out an incoherent sentence but the man above understands him perfectly. Daehyun thrusts in ruthlessly, Youngjae biting hard on his swollen mouth as the wave of bliss thrashes vigorously.

"Daehyun-"

Youngjae's words cut off with a sharp cry, an explosive burst crumbling all strength left in him and making his knees go completely weak. Daehyun arches his back into Youngjae, biting on his collarbone as he releases inside of him. He pounds in as they ride out their orgasm, curves of their mouths fitting insatiably well.

Daehyun pulls out, their foreheads pressed together while they try to catch their breaths. He pushes Youngjae's knees up and admires the endless white slipping from Youngjae's pink hole, the boy feebly lying against the headboard. Carrying Youngjae down onto the mattress, he drapes the sheets over them in a slick move and buries Youngjae in his chest.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sunlight coaxes Youngjae out of his slumber, nothing but fresh sheets and Daehyun's fast fading presence in his clinch. A dry, bitter smell that reminds him of wormwood floods his senses and Youngjae blearily sits up, watching the beams stream in through the blinds. There's a shirt and a pair of shorts folded on the nightstand, along with a cup of water and some amenities.

The recollections of Youngjae's dream slip away before he can grasp it, staining Youngjae's mind with a green tint. He gulps down the water and pads to the bathroom to wash up.

The smell of eggs and roasted ham pesters him towards the kitchen and he peeps in. Daehyun is standing by the stove, clad in a wife beater and track pants. He perks up from his cooking and beams at the sleepy man.

"You're awake," Daehyun strides over, stealing Youngjae's lips in a swoop. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to leave you alone." 

Youngjae returns a delicate smile and lets Daehyun guide him into a chair. He glances to a small green bottle sitting on the opposite end of the table, a familiar drawing of a girl and a boy holding hands chiselled into the glass.

The scrawl beneath reads _Jack & Jill_. Youngjae raises his brows, craning his neck to inspect it. He hasn't heard of such a brand before, but it seems oddly reminiscent. His mind clicks when he remembers Himchan dangling a small olive bottle from his fingertips, squinting at it suspiciously. 

_Daehyun's always drinking this but he never lets me use it._

"It's absinthe," Daehyun provides, setting down two brimming plates of breakfast. He shelves the bottle out of reach and gently caresses Youngjae's cheek. 

"Did you have a good sleep?"

"I did," Youngjae answers languidly, the memory of Daehyun's possessive grip still fresh in his mind. "What about you?"

Daehyun melts into a satisfied smile and thumbs Youngjae's lashes. "I definitely did, with you beside me."

Youngjae flitters his eyelashes and chuckles, nibbling at his toast. The manner in which Daehyun gazes at him is least to say embarrassing, his half-lidded eyes and light smirk making Youngjae lower his head shyly.

Everything about Daehyun is undoubtedly smooth, from his speech down to his mannerisms. He almost seems impeccable, like a prince ripped out straight from a storybook. Youngjae knows better than to give his hope to a fairytale, so he reminds himself to expect nothing tomorrow. After Jieun and Hyosung's warnings, it's likely he'll be abandoned sooner or later.

"Stay here for the afternoon. I'll send you to work," Daehyun intones, not touching his food and instead fixating his gaze on Youngjae.

"Why are you staring at me?" Youngjae questions amusedly.

Daehyun interlinks his hands and cocks his head to the side, persisting in his idle smile. "I'm curious about you."

"You shouldn't be," Youngjae yawns, rubbing his eyes. "There's nothing interesting about a college kid."

"But you've captivated me," Daehyun counters with a hum. He pours a glass of orange juice for Youngjae and opts for absinthe for himself.

"Tell me your story. What's a beautiful thing like you living on your own?" Daehyun questions.

Youngjae toys with his cherry tomatoes and cheekily flickers his gaze up to meet Daehyun's. "If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?"

Daehyun chugs down his absinthe, throat visibly constricting. He manages out a grin underneath his piercing hiss.

"That's fair," he agrees. "How about you go first? Tell me about your family."

Youngjae pokes at his croissant and shrugs. "Um, I come from a big family. I've got five siblings; I'm the fourth child. I have an older sister, three older brothers, and one younger brother."

Daehyun nods attentively and poses, "Are you close to your siblings?"

"Not really," Youngjae admits. "My third oldest sibling left the house when I was twelve. I have rather big age gaps with the rest so it was always a little hard to connect."

"I see," Daehyun hums curiously. "Are you close to your parents, then?"

Youngjae churns out a small smile. "They're the kind of parents who let go early."

"So they let you do whatever you want?" Daehyun questions, sneaking a hand underneath the table and resting it on Youngjae's knee.

Youngjae promptly shakes his head. "They're really strict. It's just that they expect us to already know what they'd want us to do after a certain age, so they don't bother about us anymore. They'll call to check a couple of times per year but other than that, we're left on our own."

"How can they expect you to know what  _they_  would want you to do?" Daehyun chuckles, slipping his hand up and tenderly massaging Youngjae's thigh.

Youngjae bashfully simpers and ponders to himself for a moment. "I mean, like, make the right choices."

"Have you been making the right choices, then?" Daehyun teasingly asks, groping Youngjae's flesh.

Youngjae gazes back at Daehyun, letting out a soft laugh. "I hope so."

"Must be hard," Daehyun laments, offering a comforting squeeze. "Being left alone so young and still having to meet your parents' expectations."

"I guess," Youngjae replies quietly. He mischievously prods Daehyun. "Let's talk about you now."

"Alright," Daehyun says, sending Youngjae a candid smile. "Shall I start with my family too?"

Youngjae stops short. "Oh, I- no, you don't have to," he breathes, hanging his head low in apology.

Daehyun laughs unhurriedly, laborious skin stretching over his cheekbones. "Don't worry. I'm open about my history."

He pinches his chin, deliberating on where to start. "I was the only child of a shotgun marriage. My parents died in a car accident when I was seventeen."

Daehyun's tone is so composed it sounds like synthetic jazz ripped off a remixer. He frowns in thought and continues, "I think it was the year after that—I used the money they willed me to start up Cosmopolitan."

"I'm sorry," Youngjae breathes, averting his gaze. "That's..."

Youngjae trails off, unable to churn out a proper answer as he dips his head in empathy. He's never been close to his parents, but he still can't envisage the magnitude of heart-wrenching agony in losing them.

"Tragic?" Daehyun inputs for him.

Youngjae unsurely sinks his teeth into his lower lip, it still bruised from last night's heated activities.

"It's alright; don't be afraid to offend me. A lot of people say that," Daehyun proffers.

"It was drunk driving, so I'd say it was kind of deserving." Daehyun snivels up his nose, nonchalance stamped into his dim irises. "For my father, at least."

"Honestly..." Daehyun furrows his brows and purses his lips. "I think my father set the whole thing up. He was a bartender; obviously, he knew his alcohol limit. Probably wanted to die that day with my mother.”

Youngjae keeps mum and shrivels back into the chair. His transfixed gaze on the polished wood tears away when Daehyun lifts Youngjae's chin, unstirred smile splitting his face.

"Don't feel bad. If it makes it any better, I never really saw him as my father. So it didn't hurt much."

 _Blasé_ , Youngjae thinks as he delves into Daehyun's abysmal eyes. A cold draft pricks at his skin as he watches Daehyun easily smile, as though he hadn't just spoken of his parents' deaths like today's weather.

Daehyun collects their plates and dumps them into the sink. In Youngjae's mind, he crafts out a cocktail of bland bittersweet behind his eyelids, ivy blue shimmering coolly in amber lights. Dash of white, sugary snow lacing the tip and an Iberis flower to top it off.

"Shall I give you a tour of my home?" Daehyun hums soothingly.

Youngjae's reverie disintegrates and he nods quickly, Daehyun interlocking their hands. Silence resides between them and through layers of impenetrable skin, Youngjae can claw out no traces of sorrow. He simply squeezes his hand to offer wordless condolences Daehyun won't accept.

Daehyun's house is well-furnished, truly a sight to behold. It is a dream home for many, those unable to attain it wallowing in flesh-deep envy and loathing awe. The ivory colour scheme has been tuned to flawlessness, minimalist design exuding elegance of the highest degree.

The artifacts hung up on the wall spell Daehyun out to be extremely cultured. Youngjae stops by one of them, reading the blurb by the sketch of an old man and a butterfly. 

[ _Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man._ ](http://terebess.hu/english/chuangtzu.html)

Youngjae gazes in mesmerisation, a thumb to his lips. There's some text bordered up in gold beside it.

[ _A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality_](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/8705-a-dream-you-dream-alone-is-only-a-dream-a).

He continues ambling down the aisle, engrossed in ogling at the pieces. A enthralling artwork by the side lures Youngjae towards it. It's a painting of the earth, but half of the dull blue and green is smeared into a stunning array of glittery colours. There's a drawing of a hand with a thumb out in the frame, having apparently "smudged the world" with his finger.

"Like it?" Daehyun's fingers sneak up Youngjae's shirt, thumb pads prickly. "I drew that."

"It's really pretty," Youngjae comments as he steps closer to get a better look. The bleeding blue out of the canvas has a small, brown canoe in it. On it is scribbled the famous nursery rhyme "Row, Row, Row Your Boat".

The neighbouring artwork is Vincent Van Gogh's  _Starry Night_. The caption reads: 

_[Look, I have dreamed another dream. And this time, the sun, the moon, and the eleven stars bowed down to me. Genesis 3:7](http://www.biblestudytools.com/parallel-bible/passage.aspx?q=genesis+37:9&t=nkjv&t2=niv) _

A passage is inscribed below it. 

_[When he painted a road, the roadmakers were there in his imagination, when he painted the turned earth of a ploughed field, the gesture of the blade turning the earth was included in his own act. Whenever he looked he saw the labour of existence; and this labour, recognised as such, was what constituted reality for him.](https://books.google.com.sg/books?id=60nLp2rVdUQC) _

Adjacent to the replica is a collage of words, presumedly romantic extracts from novels. In the middle is a large excerpt, written by hand. 

[ _When you are away, you are nevertheless present for me. This presence is multiform: it consists of countless images, passages, meanings, things known, landmarks, yet the whole remains marked by your absence, in that it is diffuse. It is as if your person becomes a place, your contours horizons. I live in you then like living in a country. You are everywhere. Yet in that country I can never meet you face to face._ ](https://books.google.com.sg/books?id=B6NOBAAAQBAJ)

"Wow," Youngjae wheezes in fascination, scanning each and every line strung within the rectangle. 

He points to the central herd of words. "Where's this from?"

"That's not important," Daehyun dismissively declares. "The beauty lies in their rawness, right?"

Youngjae blinks back innocuously and replies, "Without the context, they're distorted."

"Doesn't matter, as long as you can apply it to youself." Daehyun waves his hand and stalks ahead.

Youngjae's shoulders slump and he obediently follows after Daehyun. The latter stops in his stride and massages his neck sheepishly, before he eventually says, "I'll tell you a secret. I have no idea where those quotes came from."

"I haven't read finished a single book in my life. Nor visited a museum," Daehyun confesses bashfully, simper dressing his face charmingly.

Youngjae stifles back a peal of laughter. "Then what are all these for?"

"To impress people like you," Daehyun cheekily explains.

Youngjae scoffs light-heartedly, allowing Daehyun to escort him away. "How'd you gather them?"

Daehyun puffs out his cheeks in response and divulges mischievously, "Hired a designer, gave her a theme and she provided me with the materials. I picked those I liked."

They roam past a familiar work, the large title reading  _[The Persistence Of Memory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Persistence_of_Memory) _ by Salvador Dalí _._

"Can you guess what the concept was?" Daehyun asks.

The question has Youngjae dwelling thoughtfully on the pieces he has seen, mystification surrounding each.

"Dreams?"

Daehyun hums contentedly as they reach the end of the hallway, an emerald carving in the pillar. It's in the shape of a woman with butterfly wings on her back, the outline made by green gemstones chiselled into the wall. Every little detail of the woman from her eyelashes down to her toenails is carefully crafted out.

Youngjae inches forward and admires the intricate craftsmanship dedicated to this work.

" _La Fée Verte_. The Green Fairy," Daehyun resonates, relishing in Youngjae's spellbound look.

"Absinthe," Youngjae utters.

"It was banned in the past because it was thought to induce hallucinations. This was its personification. The fairy that leads the common man astray," Daehyun elaborates, tracing the figure's flowing hair. 

Youngjae nods. He read up on this in his free time back when he was still enrolled in college. Absinthe was falsely portrayed as a psychoactive drug that provoked insanity for a long time in the past. It was firmly stated to be the root cause of many violent crimes and social disorder.

"She reminds me of Tinkerbell," Youngjae bubbles, inducing a chuckle in Daehyun.

"You're right." He thumbs a jewel engraved into the wall and softly smiles. "Say, I've always wondered whether it'd be a dream or a nightmare if the green fairy were to visit me," Daehyun breathes, a childish wonder to his voice.

"It'll be a dream to see absinthe in her human form, but as for what she'll do..."

Youngjae gazes at Daehyun, the latter fondly stroking the indentations in the wall. He inwardly wonders how Daehyun started taking such a huge liking to absinthe; he seems to drink it nearly everyday.

"Well, it doesn't matter what she does, does it? It's just a dream, anyway," Youngjae remarks teasingly, Daehyun veering his head to face him.

Daehyun raises his eyebrow in contemplation and intrigue. He discreetly corners Youngjae, the latter barely notices the hunger etched into Daehyun's pupils.

"When I'm still asleep and dreaming, it matters," Daehyun whispers, sneaking a hand up Youngjae's shorts. Youngjae jolts at the unexpected contact and the heat between them sparks ravenously, the background bleeding out and leaving just Daehyun's predatory smile intact.

"But she's not real," Youngjae wheezes. He emits a sharp groan when Daehyun runs his wet tongue down Youngjae's jugular vein, shivers running down his fingers.

"That's subjective," Daehyun whispers, kneading Youngjae's thigh.

"Daehyun, we have work later," Youngjae cautions yet he helplessly sinks himself into Daehyun's grasp.

"It won't take that long," Daehyun assures with a chuckle, provocative tone tripping Youngjae into a pit of unrestrained temptation. Their lips mould passionately against one another, the green fairy dwindling into a mere distant thought.

 

\--

 

Perhaps the most accurate depiction of alcohol is to call it a double-edged sword. On one hand, the state deems it a demerit good—naturally, with the uprise of drunk-driving deaths and cases of alcohol poisoning. No sane lawmaker will approve of a drug that makes the common man come undone, what with the many unsightly scenes of people sprawled in the middle of the road in their own barf.

Yet for the individual, sobriety may be the most intimidating foe. For the shy boy who wallows in mute timidity, the frazzled single mother that cannot make ends meet, the addicted homeless in winter delirious for warmth, alcohol is a treasured antidote. It lends a booming voice, sweetly massages the tension away and generously warms the shivering man up.

Sure, one may argue that it only makes the drinker vulnerable to faux pas and the piling problems never go away. Even the heat provided is [fraudulent](https://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/mythbusters/mythbusters-database/alcohol-warms-up/). But it's undeniable that for those few lovely moments, alcohol makes everything feel better.

In truth, for this all-purpose aspirin, its temporariness is its greatest achilles' heel. Reality always returns brashly once the quick fix wears off. In desperation feel good again, the poor man begs for more, more, and more.

And from there on begins the tragedy of self-destruction.

"I'm surprised you can still walk," Jieun laughs as she sets herself down by the bar. Youngjae raises his head and distractedly stacks away the glasses.

"Yongguk had to take leave for a week. And he came back limping too. What a wimp."

"Hey," Himchan interrupts, folding his arms crossly, "I thought we agreed to never bring it up again. You know how Yongguk feels about it."

"No need to be so protective, Himchan," Jieun drawls, popping out her compact and tidying up her eyeshadow. "Honestly, I'm starting to think it's you who doesn't want to hear it. Do you have something for Yongguk or what?"

Himchan shudders in disgust. Daehyun appears at this moment as he pockets his car keys, yanking his blazer and striding up to the bar. 

"Bastard," Himchan huffs, pinching his nose. "Couldn't even give us one day off? We're all still hungover."

Daehyun casts him a pompous grin. "For a guy working at the bar, you honestly should have a better alcohol tolerance."

He leans over the counter, guiding Youngjae's head towards him and capturing his lips. Immediately, Himchan emits a deafening, scandalised groan.

"Oh my god. My eyes. Someone, send help," Himchan wails at the top of his lungs, peeking through his fingers every once in a while and exaggeratedly flinching. 

Daehyun flicks Himchan's forehead much to his outrage, Daehyun never veering his mesmerised stare from Youngjae.

"Hate to agree but you deserved that, Himchan. You're the second biggest tramp among us," Jieun reasons.

"Shut up, Jieun. You're a whore too."

The bicker that erupts has Youngjae laughing sweetly, Daehyun instinctively melting into a fond smile. He winds over to the counter and discreetly squeezes Youngjae's behind, making the bartender jolt. Daehyun chuckles lowly into the nape of Youngjae's neck and fingers open a drawer, tugging out his absinthe bottle.

"You're very fond of absinthe, aren't you?" Youngjae muses, giggling when Daehyun's breath tickles his skin. Daehyun pulls away and grabs a glass, emerald green gushing out beneath his discoloured fingers.

"That's because I'm hoping the green fairy will pay me a visit," Daehyun purrs as he downs his drink. He stops and hisses for a moment, relishing in the burn down his throat. He continues teasingly, "And if I'm lucky, we'll have a date." 

"So, I'm already forgotten?" Youngjae jests, unconsciously admiring Daehyun's unbreakable composure. The way he simmers into his smile is enthralling, as though he has the entire world in his hand and nothing can possibly unnerve him.

Daehyun amusedly interlocks their lips, nibbling lightly. "If I had to pick between the both of you..."

He tilts back and hums, stroking Youngjae's cheek affectionately. He tucks the bottle of absinthe away and simmers into a dreadful smirk. "I guess I'll have to do away with the absinthe, then."

"Whoa," Himchan echoes warningly, brows heightened to his hairline. He attempts to tug Daehyun out of Youngjae's hearing range but his harsh whisper subsists. "Don't make promises you can't keep. I know you've got a history of leading people on but do you  _seriously_  want to do it to your own bartender?"

"Who says I'm doing that?" Daehyun finishes. He pries Himchan's grip off his arm and calmly swigs his drink. "I already can't get enough of him. I won't be surprised he'll overthrow my absinthe addiction one day."

"Moving on," Daehyun continues, breach in the conversation mowed effortlessly, "I have business to attend to tonight. Kwon's gathering. Can't miss it, I'm sorry."

He diverts his apologetic stare to Youngjae before facing Himchan. "So I'll be counting on you to send Youngjae back."

"Wait, what?" Himchan punctuates with dubiety, startling Daehyun.

"No, I mean, I can send Youngjae back, sure," he clarifies, "but you're serious?"

Daehyun graciously lugs Youngjae by his collar, sealing their lips in a daring contract. "I have a good feeling about this one," he whispers against Youngjae's mouth, footsteps incinerating the floor. Himchan wastes a moment gawking before their first customer struts in.

"I'll... I'll need to talk to you later, Youngjae."

  
 

\--

  
 

Himchan's automobile emanates a warm tone similar to that of family cars. There are bundles of multi-coloured blankets sitting in the backseat and some corny sofa cushions sprawled over the floor. Despite Himchan's suaveness amid the upper-class who scorn the hoi polloi, he is wholly down to earth once the bar's atmosphere thaws.

Youngjae eyes the tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the rear view mirror and openly cackles at it.

"Can it, squirt," Himchan sighs, though he chuckles along and fiddles with it. "I know Jongup just got his first salary then, but really, he couldn't think of something better that costs a dollar?"

"Sounds like the job didn't pay too well," Youngjae remarks, dwelling in the pine wood scent as Himchan revs the engine. "Or maybe he wanted to tell you your car stinks."

"Underage gas station cashiers don't earn much. And I'll have you know I take pride in cleaning my car once a year."

Youngjae leans against the smeared window and squints out at the bleeding neon. "Yeah, definitely wanted to tell you it stinks."

"I can always throw you out and leave you to walk five hundred miles," Himchan carols, shaking his shoulders to the melody.

Youngjae rolls his eyes and they simmer into a comfortable silence. The greed-ridden night life haughtily glares down the Toyota's dashboard, smirched coupons peeking out of the glove box. 

"Is what you want to say really important?" Youngjae queries. "That you had Jongup go back with Yongguk."

"It's more of payback for the shit he pulled yesterday. Fucker, I nearly had a heart attack when I thought he was drowning," Himchan scoffs, blindly grasping an old CD and shoving it into the player.

"Yongguk doesn't know how to handle Jongup when he goes off about Pokémon. Basically setting him up for an awkwardness galore and a reminder he's out of touch with the young." Himchan bobs his head, pleased.

"You guys are the same age," Youngjae points out with a chortle.

"Details," Himchan dismisses, an old europop tune blasting from the speakers. "Anyway, does it need to be important? I want some quality bonding time with you. Learn more about our honey boo Jae."

He puckers his lips and leans over. Youngjae plays along and scrunches up his mouth, inciting a boisterous laugh from Himchan.

"Have you dated before, Youngjae?" Himchan questions.

"Thrice. Once in high school and the other two, college," Youngjae recounts. "Two of them were out of curiosity."

"So you got asked out and you just said yes, even though you didn't like them?" Himchan verifies and clicks his tongue. "Damn, you're cold."

"That's not what you said when Hana told us about your stalker Hyorin."

Himchan begins to splutter much to Youngjae's glee. He ultimately sighs and mutters, "Guess it was karma. It was a dark day, man; I screamed for hours in that goddamn carboot. I wouldn't be alive now if Yongguk hadn't rescued me."

His unpretentious aura breeds within his slouched shoulders and tacky flares of the nose. It's quite intriguing, really, that his cool facade peels off to reveal a stark contrast—one who cares little about his image and more for a boy he's been sheltering. The glimpses of Himchan adjusting Jongup's bow tie and exerting his fatherly authority can only be stamped as fascinating, Youngjae thinks.

"Are you Jongup's guardian?"

Himchan snivels at the question. "Legally, no. But by all other means not related to the shitty state, yes."

"How long has he been with you?" Youngjae inquires, poking down a gameboy cartridge rattling across the dashboard.

"God, don't make me do the math. Uh, I was sixteen when I met him."

Youngjae fidgets, unsure if he should probe. Himchan pats him roughly on the head.

"I'll save you the trouble, babe. You won't be getting any out of me. Those dumbasses have been harassing Jongup since forever, so don't think you'll dig out anymore than they have."

"How about two truths, one lie?" Youngjae jokes, to which Himchan grins.

"Alright. One, I'm bi. Two, I have a piss kink. Three, I've had a thing for you since we met."

"Should have specified who I was asking about," Youngjae frets. "Ew, you like people to pee on you?"

"That was the lie, stupid."

Youngjae meets Himchan's gaze, the other's mouth coiled. "So I'm your type?" Youngjae incredulously asks. "You hated me. I'm pretty sure of that."

"Well, you put me through hell," Himchan drawls, casting Youngjae a stony glare, "but I guess Satan can be pretty cute when he wants to be."

Himchan roughly circles his own face as Youngjae chortles, continuing, "You have that look I get off to. Big eyes, a bit of a deer in headlights vibe. Serene, kind of mild demeanour."

"Honestly, I liked you since I first saw you," Himchan muses. "That was back when you were still working at that run-down pub."

Himchan abruptly cackles. "Hey. There was this guy with you one time, the super drunk kid who toppled over the counter, do you remember?" He wheezes in a drawn out breath, "Oh my god, I laughed so hard my stomach fucking hurt the whole way back."

Youngjae glances at Himchan uncomfortably. Only Jaebum ever used to visit him while he was at work. The thought unnerves him quite a bit as he absentmindedly massages his arm. He hasn't switched on his old phone for a long time. He doesn't want to because he knows Jaebum can see that he's read all of them—he'd rather Jaebum think of him as gone forever.

With a belated chuckle, the conversation's tempo goes unhinged and Youngjae squirms. "Uh, thanks for liking me?"

"Mm, I should have made a move first." Himchan predatorily jabs Youngjae in the sides, the latter squeaking in fright. He settles on pinching Youngjae's cheek. "Too bad Daehyun was faster. That guy, always treats it as some sort of conquest. Like rushing into battle."

"You understand what I'm saying, right?" Himchan makes a left turn, strumming against the wheel.

The transition out of Gangnam burns away the razzle-dazzle from LED and skimpy frocks, like an exile of the plastic and cellulite. Seoul is impeccable whilst in Gangnam, swindling the patriotic citizens until the highways reveal the beggars.

The scenery dwindles into a plain neighbourhood of overturned trash chutes and disheveled apartments. Himchan heaves, "Daehyun has flings. A lot of flings. Three months, two weeks, even a day." 

"A day? Isn't that just a one night stand?" Youngjae jokes.

Himchan shrugs. "To Daehyun, yeah. To his fling? Not so much. This'll sound like some dumb teenage lovey-dovey crap, but a lot of them don't come out okay. It's understandable. I mean, one moment, he makes you feel like the only thing that matters, and the next, he's tossed you away."

"Even for his one night stands? Woah, how charming must he be to reel them in with just one day?" Youngjae drawls in a light tone.

Himchan clicks his tongue. "You'd be surprised. The way Daehyun speaks... when you're talking to him, he always makes you feel like you're the entire universe at that very moment. He makes you feel special, intentional or not."

"Not only that, it's the prospect of being with a guy like Daehyun," he remarks. "He can practically give you anything you want. He doesn't just give you the assurance; he makes you feel it. You'll never have to worry because you know he has everything under control."

"That is how Daehyun's like," Youngjae hums. A peek of a familiar, debonair profile scrawls out in the corner of his eyes. Daehyun's languid smiles, the way his words gush like red wine over candlelight dinners and warm nights, his charcoal, blown eyes with nothing to be read from his irises—Daehyun is crafted out from dignified lime daiquiris and 4/4 taps of onyx shoes.

"What makes him so... attractive," Youngjae concludes thoughtfully.

"Assholes are attractive," Himchan concludes, scratching at his gelled hair. "I don't stand a chance. Cuties like you just don't like nice guys."

"Pretty sure it's because you're an idiot," Youngjae deadpans. He whines when Himchan knocks him on the head.

"I'm smart, you little shit," Himchan puffs. "And sorry to burst your bubble, but Daehyun's a dumbass too. A really big dumbass."

"Doesn't seem like it," Youngjae counters cheekily.

"Please. You should have seen how he was back then." Himchan snickers, nostalgia dripping from his words. "He worked at Burger King once and got fired after one week. There was this guy who asked for plain buns for his burger and Daehyun didn't know the store had plain buns, so he spent fifteen minutes holding up the line while plucking out the sesame seeds at the back."

Youngjae's jaw drops and he bursts out into unabashed laughter, Himchan triumphantly donning a smile. He continues, "And that maniac constantly ate like he hadn't been fed for days. Okay, that's kind of excusable since his parents forgot his allowance a lot, but who the hell spends half an hour just to lick his damn bowl clean?"

Youngjae clutches at his stomach as he tries to no avail to stifle back a laugh. Evidently pleased, Himchan wiggles his brows and dirtily comments, "Guess that's why his tongue's so skilled."

"But seriously, he used to be really different," Himchan breathes, his lighthearted tone drizzling away into weariness. "He was the nicest guy you'd ever meet. Had a big heart, always gave up his pocket money for the homeless, stayed by their side to talk, never complained about how fucked up his life was." 

Somberness sinks in too quickly, molting Himchan's smile into scraping fingernails. Himchan's grip slackens on the steering wheel and he folds his lips. "He was really a good kid, Youngjae," Himchan wheezes, sinking back into the seat. "He didn't deserve to have his goddamn first love break him into pieces."

Blue back beats into both the windscreen and Himchan's eye circles, remorse puncturing his countenance. The dreary midnights tightly wraps around them and the dusk seems to eavesdrop in hope, since misery is greedily drawn to company. 

"I really regret not doing anything," Himchan croaks feebly. "As a friend, I was supposed to watch over him, and I just let him fall apart so easily. By the time we knew he was doing drugs, it was way too late to put him back together."

The ambiences wilts into absolute guilt and tired fingers. Youngjae comfortingly clasps Himchan's wrist when they come to a stop at a junction. "You can't blame yourself, Himchan," he murmurs quietly.

It's laughable as Youngjae has no clue what exactly happened years ago, yet he offers consolation like cheap words from a get well soon card bought at the convenience store. He knows it's ridiculous but he can't give anything else to Himchan at this moment.

Himchan smiles anyway. "I tried to fix things. We all did." He emits a ragged sigh and clenches his fingers. "When Daehyun lost her, he snapped and we just let him do whatever he wanted. Prayed he could mend himself because none of us knew how to pull him out of the grief he was drowning in."

Melancholy crushes through the air as Himchan frustratedly massages his temple, trying to find his words. "Honestly, we all thought we had the chance to save him. It was pretty much why I let him fuck me even though he was such a mess. I realised only after that he was just looking, looking hard for something he lost—and none of us had it."

"Jieun really liked Daehyun back then," Himchan heaves. "Thought she could be the one to help him get back up on his feet. It was a hell of a hard blow when she realised he was just fooling around."

They revel in silence, the telling of this misery too cutting and merciless. Youngjae licks his lips, the scarce reminder of Daehyun's awfully obscured past treading through his mind. How he'd been such a sought after bartender yet gave it all up... for what, exactly?

"I'm telling you only because I want revenge for Yongguk," Himchan lightly says to ease the tension. "Those girls can't keep their mouth shut. Jieun's over it now—all of us are—but dynamics haven't been the same since."

"In the end, he's our friend. We want him to settle down for good. That's when we'll know he's truly bounced back from it all," he finishes.

"Do I have the right to pry?" Youngjae's words wear away softly. They crumple in the still air, reminding Youngjae of the ashes consequently burned into Daehyun's rusty fingers. How he obsesses over nicotine and alcohol both at once.

Himchan spares him one look and sighs in fatigue. "Might as well tell you now. If you're gonna go any further with Daehyun, you need to know."

"Han Sunhwa," Himchan starts, his voice numb. "She was a pretty thing. Had the looks, had the body, had the presence."

"Daehyun back then—he was the life of the night. Everyone would crowd by the bar just to watch him [flair](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flair_bartending). It sparked off flawlessly, you know? Daehyun fell in love."

Himchan thickly gulps as he runs a hand through his hair. "Then, he started coming to work with bloodshot eyes. Slurred his words, wouldn't stop shaking, couldn't even hold the damn bottle right."

Himchan swerves in to Youngjae's block, wheezing. "Typical signs of drug abuse."

"He's clean now, though," he hums. "Of course, we still keep a close eye on him—I followed him to the toilet for three months straight, still do sometimes—but he seems to be off the drugs for good. We're mostly watching out for the relapse."

"Oh," Youngjae breathes, lowering his head. Himchan exhales in exhaustion.

"Collateral damage. We all took a fall for him but Daehyun ultimately bore the brunt of it."

"It wasn't easy to recover." The insinuation boldly cautions Youngjae as Himchan pointedly looks over. The car rockily bumps over the road as Himchan drives into the drop-off point and stops the car. Youngjae makes no move to get out.

"Are you warning me not to get too close?" He asks softly.

Quietness hangs overhead, the drone of the engine whirring monotonously. Himchan wheezes.

"I may want the best for Daehyun," he murmurs truthfully, glancing at Youngjae, "and it looks like you'll be able to give that to him—but you have the right to know. That, well, you're potentially getting into something that can be pretty painful."

"It's not my place to say this, but," Himchan inhales, practising the words over his tongue carefully, "I think you're really good for Daehyun. A fresh face out of his fucked up life."

They sit in wordlessness, the air suddenly oddly suffocating. He's started anew himself and left behind his past, so perhaps Daehyun needs the same sort of push. Whether or not he'll be able to give Daehyun the clean slate he needs to start over, at least he'll be giving him a start.

"I'm okay with being forgotten."

The words slither out so intuitively it surprises even Youngjae himself. He rubs the back of his neck and elaborates, "I'm not expecting anything at the moment. Nor will I in the future."

Youngjae unbuckles the seat belt and it flies back against the wall of the car. "Thanks for the ride," he says, flashing the waiter a soft smile.

Himchan reciprocates with a snort, tapping his cheek. "Come on. Don't I get a good night kiss?"

Youngjae laughs and guides Himchan's face towards his lips. He lightly pecks Himchan's cheek as he pulls away, mischievously grinning.

The waiter flutters his lashes in shock. Youngjae cackles harder and exits the car without glancing back.

  
 

\--

  
 

Perhaps the most sickening thing about the filthy rich is precisely what their name insinuates: how dirty their money is. Undoubtedly, not every millionaire gleefully stands on top of the landfill—where the cheated and powerless are crushed into silence—but certainly, there are many who remorselessly step over the heads of the hoi polloi. Blood diamonds, conflict gold, the rich easily purchase the whitewash to bleach away their sins.

The recent scandal of a high-ranking multi-national company has been making its rounds like wildfire. Several factory workers were found to have contracted lung cancer in mandatory check-ups at work. Likely due to the poor environment conditions of their workplace, they were promptly fired with their deteriorating state never divulged. These dirty secrets are simply covered up with the wallpaper as the rich sip at their liquor, scathing screams of suffering the colour of the pillars.

Perhaps at night, if the wealthy bother to squint a little, they may see the faces of the dead burned as patterns into their wallpaper.

Business today is leisurely, saxophone melodies drawing sweet blue into the atmosphere. The moment a client waltzes in, Youngjae straightens up and sends him a smile. The patron has unusually prominent eye bags, digging far into his skin and bleeding black all over the swelling. Tossing his panama onto a seat, he emits a relieved groan and his leather coat crumples against the counter.

Only one side of his thin lips curl upwards.

"I'm in the mood for some scotch whisky," the customer declares, gnawing on his knuckles. "Something smoky. You got [Lagavulin, sixteen year old](https://www.masterofmalt.com/whiskies/lagavulin-16-year-old-whisky/)?"

Youngjae nods and retrieves the bottle. The man rests his cheek on his propped up arm, drumming his fingers onto the counter top. There are numerous teeth marks sunken into the skin of his knuckles. Some are intact, others faded into obscurity.

"Neat or cocktail... Suggestions?" He calls, peering upwards in thought.

"What are you in the mood for?" Youngjae asks.

The client taps his chin and cocks his head to his left. "Something refreshing. Haven't had a cocktail in a while."

"Will a [whisky sour](http://www.jamieoliver.com/drinks-tube/recipe/whiskey-sour/#XyQPoEqL5Tw78JDF.97) do, sir?"

The man ponders upon the choice and dissolves into a trusting smile. "Give me the traditional recipe. Do away with the [Bourbon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bourbon_whiskey) and keep the Lagavulin."

The patron's fingernails continues rapping against the bar, composing a tempo to Youngjae's ministrations. Youngjae mixes up lemon juice, syrup, whisky and egg white into the shaker. He swiftly adds in the ice and resumes his shaking, birthing a silky froth to blend the sourness into a delicate touch. Youngjae unveils his pièce de résistance in a sour glass, lemon slice buoyant within the effervescence.

The customer downs the cocktail and smacks his lips, satisfaction inscribed into his clawing teeth. From his drawls and the sluggish manner in which he moves, he seems almost half dead.

"Mm, that hits the spot," he croons. "Cosmopolitan has certainly changed. Does the famed Jung Daehyun still work here?"

"He is our manager, sir," Youngjae provides, dwelling on the man's praise.

The patron nods barely and lightly sighs. "Of course. I would not expect him to still be a lowly bartender. No offense meant, boy."

Youngjae smiles lightly and the jazz falls in place, Youngjae returning back to his work as he wipes the shelves. The man clears his throat, hacking for a short while before reclining into his seat.

"I am," the man pauses to extend his smile into a cheshire-like grin, "craving a riddle. Been brain-dead lately."

His garble breaks an artificiality over his overwrought, fatigued skin. "Got any good ones?"

"Suppose the [two doors](http://www.mindchallenger.com/p2.html) one is too common, huh?" Youngjae assumes, observing the man's jaundiced nail beds. "How about this one—what question can you never answer yes to?"

"Sounds like a pretty futile question if you can only answer with a negative," the client guffaws, exhaling a long draft of soot. His pupils are painted a shade of bisque, wrought with illusory decay.

"I can see numerous faults in this one, but I'll play along. Hm... Does God exist?" The man cackles lowly, revealing nicotine-stained teeth.

"Not the answer you were looking for, I'm assuming," he continues, sipping at his drink. "Hope I didn't tick you off, lad. You're not one of those religious types, are you?"

Youngjae cordially shakes his head and the patron resumes his hoarse humming, brooding thoughtfully. His slit-like, aphotic eyes glimpse to the door as it swings open. A youthful face skips in, sighing lightly as he occupies the neighbouring seat.

"You should really stop drinking, Sunggyu." The young man amiably smiles at Youngjae, fretting, "No more drinks for him for tonight, please. He's a heavy drinker, a really hopeless one."

The client, assumedly Sunggyu, bends back with a strained laugh. "If you're here to babysit, tell your mother it isn't necessary."

Sungjong evades Sunggyu's dingy eyes while Sunggyu takes another gulp.

"Once you start drinking, you can't stop or else the hangover's going to get you." Sunggyu smirks as he noisily sniffs. Sungjong merely exhales, hint of exasperation trailing through his breath.

"Anyway." Sunggyu veers his gaze back to Youngjae and groans, knuckling his head in puzzlement, "I'm stumped. Give me a hint."

"A hint for what?" Sungjong pipes in.

"The riddle he gave.  _What question can you never answer yes to?_ "

Sungjong bounces in his chair, child-like demeanour highlighting the morose shaping Sunggyu's pupils. "Oh, I've heard this one before! The answer is  _are you asleep?_ , isn't it?"

Youngjae nods affably, receiving a disparaging scoff from Sunggyu. "That's ridiculous. But now we're on that line of thought, I suppose  _are you dead?_  would fit."

"Why can't  _are you asleep?_  be an answer?" Sungjong retorts.

Sunggyu lazily cocks his head, casting him a disdainful look. "You do realise you are speaking to the man who heard an intruder in his sleep."

Sungjong's shoulders deflate. He mutters petulantly, "It's not like you were the one who caught him, anyway."

Sunggyu rolls his eyes back towards Youngjae. "Don't mind him. He's twenty but has the brain of a two-year-old."

Sungjong makes a face at the comment, folding his arms but decidedly keeping quiet.

"Sorry to hear about the intruder, sir," Youngjae offers, pouring a glass of iced water for Sungjong.

Sunggyu waves it off deftly and clarifies, "He didn't make it far. I only regret not shooting him myself."

The manner in which he exercises his speech, so comfortable and phlegmatic, incites a chilly nip in Youngjae's skin. There are only a select few who can talk so breezily about such matters without thinking twice.

"Where are my manners? Let me pose one back. Hm," Sunggyu chuckles, his eyelids drooping off halfway. After a moment's thought, he snaps his fingers, eyes lighting up triumphantly.

"What does man love more than life, fear more than death or mortal strife, what the poor have, the rich require, and what contented men desire, what misers spend, and spendthrifts save, and all men carry to the grave?"

"I know this one too!" Sungjong chimes, slinking back into his chair when Sunggyu shushes him, interrogating gaze indicating a covert derision.

Youngjae averts his eyes in thought.

"Nothing," he breathes after an extended moment. 

Sunggyu breaks out into a grin. 

"Bingo," he lowers his tone as he traces the glass rim. "Though I don't really agree with the part where it goes  _the rich require_. There are, tragically, a lot of things money can't buy."

His lashes pat his swollen eye bags so sluggishly it simulates time in slow motion. A pause swallows them whole as Sunggyu zones out, sagging skin screaming out the wear and tear of age.

Sungjong lowers his head and quietly asks, "Have you taken your medicine?"

Sunggyu snorts in return. "You know I take the [antidepressants](http://www.helpguide.org/articles/depression/antidepressants-depression-medication.htm#effects) every chance I get, Sungjong. It's the only thing that keeps me awake. For the rest, well... I'll take them eventually."

"You're supposed to take it  _with_  the sleeping pills," Sungjong hisses frustratedly. "Seriously, Sunggyu. There are better alternatives to overdosing yourself in fat hopes of getting insomnia."

"Better ways to die?" Sunggyu snaps back, demonstrating the first fissure in his composed lassitude. "They all give you the same result anyway."

He melts back into disconcerting calmness, swigging his whisky sour.

Youngjae flutters his eyelids, unsure of where to stand in such a conversation, so he returns his attention to cleaning the counter. Sunggyu shuts his eyes for a moment and Sungjong abruptly straightens up, watching warily.

After a pregnant moment, Sunggyu ruptures his peaceful reverie and offhandedly remarks, "I wish my eyes were bigger. Then it'll be harder for them to close."

He cackles loudly and swivels his gaze back onto the bartender, complacency dissecting his cheeks. "Are you curious, boy?"

He expertly twiddles the glass like a writer twirling his fountain pen. "What's a trip to the bar without a sob story, am I right?"

Youngjae blinks unsurely as Sungjong warningly nudges Sunggyu. He apologetically glances to Youngjae but Sunggyu's challenging look recurs.

"Here's another riddle for you. [If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If_a_tree_falls_in_a_forest)?"

Much to Youngjae's gratefulness, Himchan interrupts the conversation to request a [Singapore Sling](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Singapore_Sling). Youngjae grabs the Gin, mulling over the question cautiously to avoid any offensive remarks.

"That depends, sir," he concludes softly, crafting the cocktail under demeaning scrutiny.

"Taking the easy way out? What a coward." Sunggyu clicks his tongue. He meets Youngjae's eyes with a coy smile, words dreary and slurred. "I want your opinion, boy. I wanna know what's inside that head of yours."

Youngjae coughs lightly, edging the cocktail towards a disquieted and wary Himchan.

"If... we argued on the basis that sound is something perceived by the human ear, [the tree would not make a sound](https://nathanmercer.wordpress.com/tag/unperceived-existence/)," Youngjae begins, keeping his ramble quiet in case he comes off as arrogant.

"But by taking sound as a consequence of vibrations, [inductive reasoning would suggest it does.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If_a_tree_falls_in_a_forest#Knowledge_of_the_unobserved_world) I prefer to go with the latter," Youngjae intones.

The patron dons a pleased look, eyeing his confounded friend with askance.

"Inductive reasoning," Sunggyu mimics mockingly, pausing to slurp his cocktail. "Obviously well read for a bartender. My mistake to expect any less from a deluxe bar like Cosmopolitan."

Youngjae nods lightly, thanking the patron despite his words ringing as mere claptrap. The feeling is familiar—it reminds him of the weightless compliments he'd been showered, with the scribble of stellar grades and topnotch rankings. However, Youngjae does not miss the condescending timbre weaved into Sunggyu's words.

Sungjong frowns, derailed from the conversation. "I don't get it. Can you explain it to me?"

"What do you consider sound to be?" Sunggyu questions as he cocks an eyebrow.

Sungjong mumbles, "Uh, something we hear?"

"Something  _we_   _hear_ , yes? Then from your point of view, no sound would be made," Sunggyu elaborates. "Since we didn't hear anything."

He glimpses to Youngjae's name tag and dissolves into a smile, one reminiscent of creaking hinges. 

"Youngjae proposed the other view that sound is hearable and does not require our affirmation. Let me dumb it down for you: if we define sound as something that  _can_  be heard, then we can reason that the tree made a sound."

"What? I didn't say it wouldn't make a sound. It obviously would since the tree falls," Sungjong brashly retorts.

"So, you've decided sound is something that  _can_  be heard and not something _we hear_?"

Sunggyu's gradual chuckle snaps once he coughs, phlegm grating through his throat. 

"That brings us to the question behind this riddle." Sunggyu shuts his eyes, paleness rather mortifying underneath the dissecting light. 

"How can we be sure the tree made a sound when it fell?" He flutters open his eyelids. "We were not there to hear it."

"But the tree fell," Sungjong blurts. "It crashed into the ground, right? When things fall, they make noise."

"Can you confirm it did?" Sunggyu counters. "We assumed in that situation a sound is made because all the times we witnessed a tree fall, it made a sound. Inductive reasoning, as Youngjae mentioned."

"I... don't get it," Sungjong embarrassedly admits.

Sunggyu sighs, lashes fondling his skin slower by the minute. "For my fifty six years, I woke up every morning to the sun rising. Whether in cold sweat or with a scream, the sunrise was always there to greet me. Therefore, I expect the sun to rise every morning. [Custom tells me it is probable, but I cannot confirm it will rise tomorrow unless I am there to observe it the next day.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Hume#Induction)"

Sunggyu's thin pupils roam to Youngjae, seeking input. "Back to the question, we cannot ever know if the tree made a sound unless we were there to hear it."

" _Esse est percipi,_ " Youngjae recites. "To be is to be perceived."

Sunggyu hums proudly. "You see, Sungjong," he drags out his words like smog ebbing from a fire, "the philosopher [George Berkeley](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Berkeley#Contributions_to_philosophy) believed all knowledge was derived from perceiving. The world consists of only minds and their perceptions. We cannot be sure that anything external exists, since ultimately, perceptions are just ideas—all in our heads."

"Um, alright," Sungjong mutters and massages his neck. "What's the point?"

Sunggyu lifts his drink, chugging it down and hovering the glass in front of Sungjong's face. "The point is we can never be sure about anything. Is this whisky sour real? Are you real, Sungjong?"

"What?" Sungjong groans, slapping his forehead and swivelling to face Youngjae. "He's drunk. Just ignore him."

"I'm always drunk. I thought we established that," Sunggyu blathers, deliberately bumping the cocktail against Sungjong's face.

"I'm sure you've heard of virtual realities, like The Matrix, for an uncultured swine like you. People are easily fooled once all their senses are catered to. You could be hooked up to a simulation machine at this very instant," Sunggyu drawls, stroking his chin with one thumb. "I could be just a hologram meant to appear before you."

Sungjong huffs and rolls his eyes. "Do we really have to talk about this? Like, contemplate our existence right now?"

Sunggyu emanates a piercing laugh, lips stretching so excessively Youngjae expects it to uproariously snap. He sips his whisky sour at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"We're all a little philosophical at the bar. The alcohol makes it easier to accept you don't have answers." 

Sunggyu gestures for a refill and lazily grins to Sungjong. "Dongwoo preaches the damn gospel when he's drunk and he's the most anti-Christ fucker I have ever met."

Youngjae plucks out the bottles and carefully crafts the cocktail again. Egg white cossets hard liquor, sugar and lemon and accomplishes a fouetté within glass walls. He slides the drink over with a pleasant smile.

Sunggyu appears to have been waiting for Youngjae to finish, eccentrically underscoring him as vital to the conversation.

"What else can we do at the bar? Talk about that waitress' breasts?" Sunggyu ogles at Hyosung as she struts by, cleavage teasingly exposed. 

"I'll admit, I do want to, but I absolutely cannot tarnish the class Cosmopolitan upholds," he sarcastically drawls. Sunggyu grabs another swig and relishes in the simmering flavour.

"Sungjong, let me provide a better example. Your brother Sungyeol is psychotic, isn't he?"

Sungjong clenches his jaw, veins materialising across his arms. "Stop it, Sunggyu. He's  _your_  brother too."

Youngjae immediately attempts to excuse himself. Sunggyu strictly commands him to stay, gaze slicing across Youngjae's face without a single lift of a finger.

"He is still on that diving expedition, isn't he?" Sunggyu clicks his tongue, clawing the remnants of whisky on his teeth. "Woohyun told me about it the other day. Howon isn't doing his job too well if Sungyeol hasn't stopped trying to find that boy he met two hundred feet underwater."

"Sunggyu," Sungjong warns threateningly, tension skyrocketing. Sunggyu pays no heed and continues drinking calmly.

"What was the name of his hallucination again? Myungsoo?" He hums.

"It's  _[nitrogen narcosis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nitrogen_narcosis)_ ," Sungjong clarifies brusquely. "It happens to many divers. That's just one of the symptoms when you dive too deep."

"But they don't emerge from the ocean wanting to go back in."

Youngjae steps back to recede from the exchange, only to alert Sunggyu's brooding attention. 

"What do you think?" He instantly cuts, mocking smile worn over his rotting skin. With this question, Youngjae is unsparingly imprisoned to the dialogue. 

"Sungyeol is delusional, isn't he? To believe a boy actually lives nearly sixty yards below the surface. It is even more pathetic for him to be so attached to a fucking merman. Going off about politics in fucking Atlantis and how his imaginary friend will teach him how to talk to the fishies," Sunggyu cackles.

"He'll snap out of it soon," Sungjong fortunately interrupts with a scowl. "They just need a bit more time assuring him it's fake."

"Do you think he'll ever be truly convinced?" Sunggyu slowly quaffs his drink. "That aquatic boy looks and feels real to him. He'll be doubting his very own self, something he has depended on for..."

Sunggyu taps on every knobby finger, movements languid and schemed. "Thirty three years."

"Sungyeol wasn't in the right state of mind. Of course he can't trust himself," Sungjong bites back. "What the hell is so hard to understand about that? It's not like we know everything."

"And how would you know that? Do you know everything?" Sunggyu counters. Sungjong grits his teeth, snapping his head away and rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"The line between reality and fantasy is rather difficult to define, my dear Sungjong. What is not real to us may be real to Sungyeol," Sunggyu points out. "This is clearly demonstrated by humans, no? We lie. We cheat. We swindle. And there will always be fools."

"You've had first-hand experience, haven't you, Sungjong?" Upon seeing Sungjong's aggravated reaction, glee bleeds within Sunggyu's gold dentures and under his serpentine tongue. Sungjong's hand constrict on his cup.

"You are still pathetically hung up on that bitch, even after what she did," Sunggyu laughs. "When will you come to your senses? At this rate, seems you'll have to personally walk in on her fucking another man to realise she's a slut."

A loud splash shatters the tranquil music, water streaking messily down Sunggyu's face. Sunggyu barely flinches as though having expected the response.

"Stop acting like a goddamn know-it-all," Sungjong seethes, chair grating against the floor as the other patrons turn their heads. "Cocky smart ass. Go on and preach some more. Act like you're so fucking smart, be all high and mighty when you've got no one else but me."

"Oh, whoops!" Sungjong throws his arms up, widened eyes thrashing with furiousness. "Make that no-fucking-body because I'm leaving for good."

Sungjong storms out of the bar, muffled gasps arising from glittery, florid faces. Youngjae briskly gets a napkin and Sunggyu roughly wipes his face, retaining his levelheadedness. Silence draws a blank for a long while till Sunggyu glimpses at Youngjae, patronising tone ensuing again.

"It was not your place to listen in on the conversation."

In spite of how it had blatantly been Sunggyu's intention for Youngjae to hear what he had to say, Youngjae bows and apologises. Sunggyu stares long and hard before slurping his cocktail, ice clanking against glass.

"You know, I've always wondered—what's so great about honesty? Revering it as a virtue, something we must uphold... It's naive. If lies can play the role of truth perfectly, if it feels just as real as reality, it should be treated as such. Indulged in. Manipulated. Feared."

"I aimed to make you feel uncomfortable," Sunggyu arrogantly sneers out of the blue. "I wanted you to feel my misery. It's a habit; I want everyone I meet to feel miserable. If I can't be happy, no one can be."

He conks his empty cup against the countertop. "I'm so miserable it's disgusting."

Dreariness sews itself into the cracks above Sunggyu's eyelids. He cocks his head one side. 

"Do you want to know what's wrong with me, boy?" He growls, grip tightening on his glass.

"Every night, without fail, I am imprisoned," Sunggyu starts, nibbling on his thumb. "Held captive, in my own body. [Stuck in my nightmares, unable to rouse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep_paralysis). A fucked up form of sleep paralysis."

"In my dreams, I engage in sciamachy. Tilt at windmills. Fight the unreal." Sunggyu's veins continuously slide over his bones in spite of his motionless knuckles. His jaw shudders almost unnoticeably. "I kill, kill and kill to survive and wake up the next morning."

"Sounds like utopia, no? A playground where you can try out so many things." Contrariness lies upon his disquieting smile, like submerged into a casket.

"Well, it's not, boy. It's terrifying," Sunggyu hums. He clenches his jaw and slams his fist against the table. For the first time tonight, he shreds his adamantine facade.

"My nightmares are never the same. Sometimes, I'm being chased. Sometimes, I'm trapped in a torture chamber. Sometimes, I'm held at gunpoint. And I can't wake up unless I win." He exhales and his stature collapses into restless debris and panicky hands. The silhouette of implacable apparitions haunt Sunggyu's misty pupils.

"I'm awake," Sunggyu wheezes, fatigue burning out syllables. "I'm always awake. I know I'm dreaming and I know I'm not actually fighting anything. It's all just in my head."

Youngjae listens quietly as Sunggyu's petrified fingers rattle against his cup.

"There was once I dreamt I was in war," Sunggyu chuckles wryly, "a soldier who left behind his family. How ironic, since I don't have one."

"There were bombs everywhere. People yelling in gibberish, shot me over and over. Lost my left foot, had to drag the bloody stump against debris. I hid out in the woods from the enemy, waiting to wake up."

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "All the while, I felt the pain. Years passed and I finally decided to assassinate the dictator—that's when I woke up. I was in the hospital, surrounded by my relatives. I had been knocked out for a week."

"Do you understand why I fear?" Sunggyu questions, pressing his glass into the counter. "Death is commonly equated to an eternal slumber. Perhaps, if I don't fight, I may just die in my sleep. Killed by the monsters toddlers believe in."

Composure peels away the overused skin to reveal delirium, pumping incessantly through Sunggyu's nerves.

"Maybe it's God's sick way of reclaiming me. Kim Sunggyu, corporate CEO, biggest risk of dying not so much his alcoholism but his need to sleep. What a fucking joke to have my weakness be the imaginary."

"People laugh at me. Those bloody fucktards think I get worked up for nothing," he grits bitterly. Youngjae watches, hoping his empathy does not show.

Sunggyu smashes his glass down, solid material leaving not a hint of a trace on the granite bar.

" _It's just a dream; what's there to be scared of?_ Fucking cunts," Sunggyu flares, teeth clenched so hard it grinds dust. "I'm gonna send a fake hit man after them. See what they have fucking left to say when they're running for their goddamn lives from a murderer."

"Do you think it matters if it's real?" Sunggyu raises his uncoordinated glare, irascibility demanding an answer.

"Do you think it fucking matters when it  _feels_  real at that moment? Do you think you won't run when it looks like you're about to be shot? Do you think you won't hide when you hear an explosion? No one stops to think  _oh, that could be a toy gun or fireworks; I'll take my sweet ass time to leave_."

"I'm not pathetic," Sunggyu snarls, "I have an empire of wealth to protect. I am a  _king_  and those motherfuckers are losers so obviously, they don't see why I have every fucking right to be anxious."

Sunggyu flings backs into the chair, drowsily clutching his damp hair. He placates his erratic breathing and mouths a countdown to himself.

"I lie in bed the whole night, staring at the ceiling, because I don't dare to close my eyes," he wheezes. "You'd think I'd be less frightened because the battlefield is my mind,  _mine_. Yet, ironically, it's the thing I have least control over."

The burnout stretches gruesomely around Sunggyu's waxy skin, choking out the last of his breaths. The long break in his harangue incites nervousness in Youngjae.

"My psychologist," Sunggyu begins and pauses to rub his temple, "interpreted my dreams as a manifestation of my aggressiveness. My innate drive to win and my deep-rooted philosophy of  _the end justifies the means_. I guess that's what the dismembered corpses stand for."

He puts out his palms, mangled with lines. "I have, regrettably, in real life, dirtied my hands with the blood of countless in order to earn a place amongst the filthy rich."

"Maybe I'm suffering now to pay for my sins. Divine punishment, eh?"

Silence overwhelms the bar as Sunggyu stares down at his drink, pupils hazy and unfocused. Youngjae keeps his head dipped respectfully, debating on a response. At the tavern he worked at, often, patrons would talk to him. Some believed the more the merrier, while others wanted an outsider's point of view. It had always been a treacherous part and parcel of the job and so far, he hasn't run into any mishaps. But now—

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Youngjae snaps up and shakes his head in haste. Sunggyu decomposes into calmness as he heaves deeply, shutting his eyes.

He pushes his cup towards the bartender. "Red wine."

Youngjae hesitates for a moment and decidedly fills it up with warm water. Sunggyu tosses him an interrogating look.

"Alcohol messes with your sleep-"

"The doctors already told me, boy," he snarls, prodding the glass back. "Don't play nurse."

Youngjae awkwardly shifts and questions, "Did you try it?"

Unnerved, Sunggyu rolls his eyes in response. "Do you take me for a fool? Of course I did. I went to bed sober several times. If anything, the alcohol helps to calm my nerves."

"Night caps affect the second half of your sleep, even hours before bedtime," Youngjae provides in a low voice.

"I  _know_  that," Sunggyu grits. "It reduces sleep quality. By logic, shouldn't I drink more of it to wake up in the middle of the night?"

"Maybe it isn't waking you up fully," Youngjae offers, boldly putting away the whisky.

Sunggyu glowers at him and releases a snooty scoff. "Suddenly a medical professional, hm? I'm appalled the staff of Cosmopolitan think they have the right to butt their heads into a customer's business."

"I apologise, sir," Youngjae murmurs.

A draggy breath leaves Sunggyu's mouth and he slurps the water, wincing at the foreign taste. "Which bartender school are you from?"

"I didn't study at one," Youngjae confesses, observing as Sunggyu downs the glass with a sharp rasp.

Sunggyu hums at this and absentmindedly nods. "So you learnt on your own? You must be a high school drop out."

Youngjae falters, immediately inciting Sunggyu's interest. Sunggyu leans over and pinches his lower lip, spouting, "You are quite knowledgeable for such a level."

"I attended university," Youngjae divulges.

Sunggyu whistles and intertwines his fingers, resting his elbows on the bar. "Which?"

"Seoul National University."

Surprisde, Sunggyu broadly grins and lets out a deep chuckle. He cranes his head forward and queries, "Which major did you get your degree in?"

"Electrical engineering, sir," Youngjae says, catching Sunggyu's amused smile and turning away. "I quit before I graduated."

"Unbelievable," Sunggyu exclaims, tapping his fingers on the table and demanding an answer. "Was it the stress? Or you decided to fuck everything you've worked for and become a bartender?"

"I guess, the latter," Youngjae answers quietly.

Sunggyu clicks his tongue slowly and scrutinises Youngjae with a sceptical look. "The acceptance rate dropped just this year. I'm sure you are aware many commit suicide when they fail to get admitted."

"Yeah," Youngjae breathes almost inaudibly and avoids Sunggyu's deciphering stare.

A look of realisation flashes past Sunggyu as he inclines sceptically. "Wait... could you be _that_  Yoo Youngjae? Joint Marshall scholar? The top of the Dean's list for three consecutive years?"

Youngjae barely nods. Sunggyu hurls his head back with a cackle, disbelief scrawling all over his face.

"I'm surprised. So you have been hiding here all this while?" He cracks his joints and watches Youngjae with skewered marvel. 

"SNU's director is a good friend of mine. We were just talking about you the other day. He called you mad to give up so much at the peak of your academic years."

"Indeed I was, sir," Youngjae churns out a chuckle.

"Why'd you do it, boy?" Sunggyu questions incredulously. "You know you had positions saved for you in great places. Heck, even I wanted to hire you. No matter how posh Cosmopolitan is, I doubt it can last you till your demise."

Hana strolls over at this moment and casts Sunggyu a cordial smile, leaning over to Youngjae. She whispers, "A [Tequila Sunrise](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tequila_Sunrise_%28cocktail%29) in a burgundy glass, extra measure of Vodka."

Youngjae's nifty hands manoeuvres across the bar as he lightly sets down the bottles. Filling ice to the brim, tequila blankets the cubes and orange juice diffuses within to paint a saturated shade of amber.

Youngjae expertly drizzles grenadine into the glass, like an artist tracing the circumference of the moon down to the barrel of a gun.

"I felt like it," Youngjae simply replies, handing over a fluent gradient from tangerines to cherries.

"Felt? How stupid." Sunggyu croons with fascination as his eyes follow after the cocktail in Hana's hand. "But I guess there is some... enchantment, in sculpting the hem between dawn and dusk." 

He ponders for a moment before licking his lips, finishing, "The taste of morning."

"I still think you're insane, though," Sunggyu haughtily sighs, violescent cheekbones dull under the lighting. "But you would think I am the crazy one, no? The difference between my madness and yours is that mine is aligned with the ingrained ambitions of society."

They capsize in the conversation's deteriorating pulse, Sunggyu's grip on his water loose. His rumpled skin cranes over his protruding green nerves, faint trembles seeable.

"Sir," Youngjae offers, "I don't mean to pry, but maybe if you try being sober for a full day, it'll help."

Sunggyu's chuckles dawdle lengthily. He spares Youngjae a good, long look.

"Do you know why I came here tonight?" He takes the last swig of his water, cringing.

"It's because I'm never coming back. I pay a fortune at this dumb, overpriced bar so someone  _has_ to listen to me, dump the burden on him and walk out. My own personal therapeutic session because my counsellor asks too many questions."

Sunggyu rises from his seat and evens out his coat. He spares Youngjae a quick glance. "You make good drinks." 

He cocks his head to the door and puts on his hat, letting out a listless sigh. "Well, time for another night of fighting for my life."

He looks back with a small smile, less deceitful and slightly more benign, before striding to the door.

"Goodbye, Youngjae."

Youngjae bows, Sunggyu's shuffling feet deteriorating away with the diminishing. Jieun sends him a concerned look from across the bar and Youngjae meekly smiles back, ruminating on the leftover words.

_So this is how the filthy rich live._


	4. Chapter 4

The moment the bar closes, Youngjae finds his shoulders collapsing in relief from the overhead tension. The pristine air of fabric-like grins (stitched to bleeding skin) dismantles into a breathable atmosphere. His hefty conversation from before sinks demandingly on his shoulders and he wonders for a moment if the rich buy their smiles sometimes.

Daehyun swiftly weaves past the tables and approaches Youngjae. "Are you okay?" He whispers, resting himself against the bar as he peers over in concern. Youngjae pauses in his cleaning and raises his head, somewhat distracted.

"Yeah," he returns, a little suffocated. "Sorry. I could have handled that better."

"I wasn't worried about that," Daehyun sighs, coiling an arm around Youngjae's hips and pulling the bartender to face him. "I was worried about you."

Flitting his lashes, Youngjae churns out a small smile and nods firmly. The meticulous glow of golden lights and polished glassware glimmer with a revealing disenchantment, making Youngjae somewhat uneasy. "I'm fine."

Daehyun gazes for a lengthy moment before exhaling jaggedly, nestling his face into the space between Youngjae's shoulder and jawline.  "These kind of things happen now and then, so don't let it affect you," he whispers. "You know what kind of people you're dealing with. Those who demand for everything because they have the power to."

Daehyun inahles deeply and lightly kisses Youngjae, swaying the bartender to the beat of the music. He hums a soft melody into Youngjae's skin to soothe his nerves, inciting a caramel laugh from the other. Daehyun's hands begin to wander down south and he grasps Youngjae's thighs lewdly.

"Daehyun," Youngjae whispers, glimpsing at Junhong behind them while Daehyun draws circles into his flesh. Before Daehyun can veer his gaze, Junhong snaps his head away and briskly paces off.

"Sorry. You just drive me over the edge," Daehyun chuckles. His lips ghost over Youngjae's jawline as he resumes his ameliorating hymn, singing softly into Youngjae's ear. Instinctively, Youngjae dissolves into his pacifying embrace. Daehyun seems to speak composure from his lips, his husky timbre a moonlight lullaby. 

"Shall we go first? You look drained," Daehyun proposes.

"I have to clean up," Youngjae points out as he attempts to untangle himself from Daehyun's grip.

"They can manage on their own," Daehyun provides. He cocks his head over and bellows, "Right, guys?"

Jongup and Junhong obediently nod while Yongguk muffles back a guffaw. Hyosung and Hana can only contain their sighs as they shake their heads in sheer incredulity. "Yeah, totally," Jieun bites back as she rolls her eyes. "It's so damn easy to lock up the bar. You should try it on your own, Daehyun."

"I'll take up the offer another day," Daehyun replies nonchalantly, smiling at Youngjae. "You heard her, no?"

"I'm pretty sure that was sarcasm," Youngjae laughs as he successfully weasels out of Daehyun's hold. "I don't want special treatment, Daehyun."

Daehyun melts into a low chuckle and acquiesces with a simple nod. "You're virtuous—I like that. I'll go settle some paperwork and wait for you outside, then."

They lock up the bar a little later than usual, Youngjae's colleagues pelting him with nosy questions. Sunggyu's resentful diatribe chases after him as he swings into Daehyun's car, clawing for a space in his thoughts. The whiff of perfume grasping to the front seat has dissipated noticeably, leaving a pleasant aroma of solely Daehyun's cologne. Youngjae suppresses back a light smile and buckles his seat belt. Daehyun whisks one last puff out the window and flicks away his cigarette.

"Hey," he greets, hint of giddiness in his perpetuated smile. Youngjae raises his eyebrows amusedly. "Hi?"

Daehyun spends a moment admiring Youngjae's features and guides their lips together. The languid tempo of their kiss blends with the brimming dusk, sweet romance sewed within. Smoke bleeds into Youngjae's lungs and he reluctantly pulls away, abrasive nicotine scraping at his throat.

"Do you have anything waiting to be done at home?" Daehyun questions as he starts the engine.

"Besides sleep? Not much," Youngjae breathlessly answers. Daehyun nods with a contented hum, interlocking their fingers as he skillfully handles the wheel.

"The conversation got quite heated just now," he remarks. Youngjae nods with a soft sigh and reclines the seat slightly to lay down. Daehyun comfortingly draws circles into Youngjae's palm. "What did they say?"

Gazing out the window, Youngjae watches as the nutty vagabonds persistently wander the streets. For them, night is a freezing affair where the darkness warps around them, menacingly gnawing at their brittle bones. When daylight breaks, they escape the relentless black—only to find themselves chased away for the Gangnam crowds to parade.

Unquestionably, branded stores need to upkeep their deluxe image, thus they cover up the street beggars to preserve their luxurious front. This is one of Yongguk's responsibilities. Youngjae has frequently seen him feeding the homeless elderly before reluctantly leading them to another corner.

"Things," Youngjae answers, auroras from the city lights spurting past the windscreen. "We talked philosophy and then the conversation suddenly went to their brother who's been hallucinating. One brought up the other's cheating lover so that guy snapped." 

"The man who stayed told me about his sleep disorder," Youngjae murmurs. "He has nightmares and can't wake up from them."

"That's a lot to unload on you," Daehyun exhales in disapproval, squeezing Youngjae's hand to offer some consolation.

"It was thought-provoking, though," Youngjae mentions. "He asked me this: if something feels real, is it important if it  _is_  real?" He laces their fingers together tighter and tenderly asks, "What do you think?"

Daehyun purses his lips and leans back into his seat, brooding for a while. "I guess not," he muses, tone aloof. "You said you three were discussing philosophy, hm? Reminds me of the [Experience Machine](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Experience_machine)," Daehyun comments.

Youngjae provides, "He was talking about George Berkeley's works. Oh, but now that you mention that thought experiment—it's the one where they ask if you'd hook up to a simulation machine that lets you live whatever life you want, right?"

Daehyun nods in response and supplies, "Yup. And you won't be able to tell that you're in the machine." Sighing, Daehyun reclines into the seat and taps his fingers along to the wafting bossa nova. "It's meant to refute hedonism since most won't plug in, but honestly, I don't see much of a difference."

He shrugs and rambles on, "We take in everything through our senses so as long as we're kept happy, there shouldn't be an issue whether it's real or not."

Youngjae swivels to face Daehyun, intrigued. He points out with an engrossed hum, "That's a rational take on it." 

Daehyun gently strokes Youngjae's palm with an unhurried, low chuckle. "What's your opinion?"

Youngjae dwells on the question, the silhouette of Sunggyu's back-breaking slouch and feral eyes dribbling down his throat. His livid, shivering grasp and menacingly gritted teeth, the blood he claims he took as he stares down at his crinkled hands—all of it just to stand at the top of the world.

"From a certain perspective, it matters somewhat," Youngjae broods. "Like when faced with a threat. If it isn't actually genuine, it's a waste of effort to run from it. And I personally think that the raw experience of doing something includes the unpredictability of life—the fact that you can't guarantee anything."

"Intelligent, as expected," Daehyun purrs as he slows to a stop at the traffic junction. Under the glaring red light, Daehyun steers Youngjae's lips towards his and seals them. Fine rain begins to drip onto the roof, slipping down the windscreen onto the hood and beating a rhythm to their haggard pants.

They part, Daehyun's gaze lingering sultrily on Youngjae's small smile. "I'm going to go with  _the question isn't important_ ," Daehyun decides, "because you are real, so I don't need to worry." He playfully frowns, hauling up Youngjae's hand and kissing a knuckle in thought. "You are, right?"

Daehyun dissolves into a grin when Youngjae laughs lightly, nudging Daehyun's head back when the green light flashes. "I would be very worried if you're running a bar and you aren't sure if your bartender exists or not," Youngjae jests back, placing a chaste fondant peck on Daehyun's cheek.

Youngjae chuckles, "It's funny to discuss this. I thought I left the dramatic existential crisis back in high school."

"You'll never be too old to question your own existence," Daehyun provides teasingly, never breaking their twined hands. He glances over for a moment and simmers into a light smile. "Now I'm curious how you were like in high school. Were you always this beautiful and bright?"

"I didn't go for plastic surgery, if that's what you're asking," Youngjae huffs, feigning offense. He chortles the moment Daehyun widens his eyes, hurriedly clarifying himself. "I didn't mean-"

"I know, I know. Anyway, I'm more interested in you," Youngjae croons. "How were you like when you were a teen?"

Daehyun presses his lips together as he broods with a frown. He provides, "Hm, I wasn't a very good student. My attendance rate was so bad I was held back a year for truancy." 

Cello chords spring from the speakers as Daehyun fiddles with the radio station. The way he sinks back makes him seem as though he's thawing into the lustrous, glossy tones, tension drained away.

"Why'd you skip school?" Youngjae asks. 

Daehyun thumbs his chin in nostalgia. "I wasn't too keen on taking the subjects the system offered, so I studied what I liked on my own. Mixology."

He fades into an urbane coil of the mouth, glazed eyes shimmering with a ferverish ardour. "On my school days, I went bar-hopping. Visited some of the finest liquor stores in Seoul. A lot of the owners gave me looks and some chased me out, but it's still one of the best times of my life."

"Wow, you already loved bartending since then? How did you start falling in love with all of it?" Youngjae questions in amazement.

"My father," Daehyun answers without a variation in tone. "He was a bartender."

"He must have showed you the ropes," Youngjae surmises.

"Well, he didn't exactly teach me, per say—more of introduced me to it. He brought me to work ever since I was toddler," Daehyun informs, raising Youngjae's arm and brushing his lips across his wrist. "As I grew up, the more I watched him, the more enchanted I was," he breathes, a cherished fondness to his tone.

"You've broken the law since you were a child," Youngjae jokes, earning a rich laugh from the driver. "Were your parents very busy?" Youngjae questions as he plays with Daehyun's fingers. "To have to bring you along to work."

"Mm," Daehyun breathes, coming to a stop and leaning over into Youngjae's collar. Youngjae recoils uncertainly, effusing a sharp exhale as Daehyun sucks on his collarbones. "My mother wanted nothing to do with me, so I can't fault my father for having to do that," Daehyun hums against Youngjae's skin, cold words scalding into fibre. "He could always have hired a babysitter, though, but I'm assuming that was too expensive for him."

The treble of his voice trails up to Youngjae's neck as he licks below his jawline. Youngjae can discern the hiss of absinthe within the wet warmth, subtly stinging. "Daehyun," Youngjae reminds, nudging Daehyun aside when the stoplight flickers. Daehyun loiters for a second more before returning his attention to the road, drawing the remains of Youngjae's flavour from his lips. His impassive words idle behind and his unchanged face stirs up unease.

"I'm sorry," Youngjae whispers. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"There you go again," Daehyun chuckles lightheartedly. "Don't be, beautiful. I should be sorry for making you uncomfortable. Now, enough about me. I want to know how your high school years were like."

Youngjae gazes at Daehyun for a moment, tracing out his sleek profile and that unyielding smile chiselled into his bones. What kind of mother would want nothing to do with her child—her flesh and blood, her supposed pride and joy? 

A light, assuring squeeze has Youngjae turning away, shelving the thoughts for another tomorrow. "Um, everything went well. All according to plan," Youngjae recalls.

"Plan?" Daehyun queries.

"Yeah. Nothing really went wrong," Youngjae explains, uncomfortably squirming around as he delves into his memories. Itchy collars, muddy shoelaces, Jaebum's deafening and mirthful voice across the classroom. Seven-beat counts of kiddy promises as they walked home from school together.

"It sounds so formulated," Daehyun remarks, edging over to peck Youngjae's cheek. "Says something about you—and your childhood." 

Youngjae absentmindedly responds, "My childhood?"

"Mm. Tell me more about yourself, handsome," Daehyun encourages, tracing constellations into the veins through Youngjae's fingers. "How was your family like? You said you have five siblings."

"You remembered," Youngjae chuckles. "Well... there's not much to say. We were all top-scorers in our own cohorts. My father's traditional, so he prioritised having capable children. You know, the whole typical wanting us to be surgeons and stuff."

"You must have stood out amongst them, since I can't take my eyes off you," Daehyun states with a smirk. 

Youngjae amusedly scoffs as he lightly kneads Daehyun's thumb. "Really the opposite. No one stood out besides my sister, but that was because she was a girl. And... my third oldest brother too."

"Why was that?" Daehyun hums, smoothly making a turn as they breeze through neon signs splitting the infinitesmal night. 

Youngjae mumbles, "He was a rebel. He opposed to whatever my parents told us to do."

The memories of his older brother are bittersweet. There had been a time they were close, being just two years apart, but Jiho began drifting away after he mixed with the bad crowd. He stopped going to school, began smoking and started an undergound music crew.

The few years before Jiho left for good are all of blistering canings and ineffaceable lesions. Youngjae remembers still the taut midnights where his father woke all of his siblings and him up and forced them to watch as he disciplined Jiho. He made sure he hacked the stinging slaps and throbbing blue-black into their memories as an acute warning never to disobey him.

Instead of the unceasing brutality, what left the greatest impression was the undaunted glint in Jiho's eyes. Under the choking layers of ruthless castigations—so scathing Inna pleaded for mercy on his behalf—Jiho never faltered in his stubborn ways. It was a warped satisfaction that clouded Jiho's eyes as the wood rained down unrelentingly, crumpling him to his knees.

"Can imagine he'd stir up a good deal of trouble for your family," Daehyun mentions. 

Youngjae sighs. "Yeah. My parents always warned us not to be like him—a scum to society." 

"Wait," he stops short as he peers disconcertedly out the windscreen. Instead of the usual cluttered neighbourhood and run-down complexes, he can only see the utmost deluxe stretching into the night. Bungalows loom grandly as they simmer down rows and rows of opulent property, diluted stillness a form of luxury out of the bustling, defeaning capital. 

"Daehyun, where are we going?"

"To my place," Daehyun provides simply as he offers an abashed simper. "Call this a kidnapping, but I'm not lying when I say I can't get enough of you." 

Daehyun's villa cuts across the immersive darkness, untouchable aplomb for all to view. Still surprised, Youngjae gingerly exits the car when they pull up. Daehyun immediately winds around and pins Youngjae to the car, lips latching onto his sore neck. He nudges his thigh between Youngjae's legs and sensually grinds into his groin.

Daehyun's irises are as pitch black as the night sky. Suppresing a shiver, Youngjae grasps onto Daehyun's button-down shirt and ferverntly kisses back. 

"Stay the night," Daehyun purrs into Youngjae's skin, marking Youngjae's neck fiercely and deftly unzipping Youngjae's pants. Youngjae unwinds into Daehyun's sturdy arms and they mesh once more, leaving dusk to play voyeur.

 

\--

 

Warm sunshine distills onto Youngjae's skin, the fleeting sensation akin to morning dew on lush leaves. In his dream, he melts into the sandy eclipse of Daehyun's comforting grasp, basking in sweet slumber and sinful pleasure. However, a faded shriek abruptly pierces through the consoling dreamy darkness, amplifying so defeaningly Youngjae stirs from his sleep.

Youngjae eventually awakes, somnolent eyelids flittering to meet Daehyun's smile. "Good morning," Daehyun whispers as he watches Youngjae with misty eyes. Youngjae curls up against the pillow and beams, stretching out his finger and carefully drawing a line down Daehyun's jaw. Wake blissfully dismantles his unnerving dream and replaces it with the shadow of Daehyun's touch.

"Morning," Youngjae mumbles, eyes falling shut when Daehyun pecks his forehead. 

"I ordered breakfast. Mount Pherson," Daehyun says, taking Youngjae's hand and mischievously playing with his finger. Youngjae laughs and swats the other away. "They deliver?" He questions curiously.

"For you, yes," Daehyun breathes, drawing a surprised and shy smile over Youngjae's cheeks. Youngjae brushes their lips and slips out of Daehyun's grasp, sauntering over to the bathroom. The shower patters down onto his back like light rain as the steam clouds the glass casing. Remnants of last night trail down Youngjae's legs, streaks of Daehyun's essence dribbling down the drain.

When he emerges, he finds the table exquisitely set out, shrills of fine dining and extravagance haughtily on display. Youngjae stands with his mouth agape as he scours the lavish dishes. Daehyun pulls out Youngjae's chair without batting another eyelid.

"Um, should I change into something else?" Youngjae meekly asks as he sits, overwhelmed by the stellar grandeur. He twists the seams of Daehyun's plain T-shirt over himself and Daehyun stifles back a laugh.

"You're so cute," he murmurs into Youngjae's ear, taking a seat. He pops open a wine bottle and slickly pours both of them a glass. "Bon appétit."

Youngjae returns the same as he uncertainly picks up the utensils. He carefully prods at the grilled duck and cuts out a slice, taste of roasted mushrooms dabbing the edges. The succulent fusion of herbs and spices soak his tongue and Youngjae relishes in the luscious texture. A chuckle tears Youngjae's attention away, Daehyun pressing a curled finger to his philtrum.

"You should get used to waking up like this," he says sweetly, the insinuation in his tone making Youngjae uncomfortable as Himchan's words ring prominently in his head. Staring a little harder, Youngjae wonders briefly if the silhouette of Daehyun's former love is what darkens his eyes so much. "I'd rather not," he replies teasingly.

"What are you trying to say?" Daehyun grins, arching a brow. "I can't tell if you want me to stop treating you like this or if you don't believe it'll last."

"Both?" Youngjae confesses with a soft chuckle. "I'd rather not lead myself on. And personally, I'm fine with waking up to McDonalds, but if I get too used to these kinds of buffets..." He shrugs and cheekily hums, "I might be a bit unhappy if I woke up to coke and fries. I mean, expectations do lead to disappointments."

Daehyun lets out a mellow laugh and teases, "Guess I know what not to get you tomorrow." 

Sanguine red stains his lips and he sets down the bell-shaped glass, slicing through his poached salmon. "And isn't disappointment what makes expectations so thrilling?" Daehyun remarks. 

"When you set your expectations as high as you can, it's like a gamble. You aim for more but if you don't meet them, you're bound to fall harder." He cheekily plays with the glass in his hand, watching the wind slither against the rim. "I set my expectations high so nothing ever comes out right."

"You're a masochist," Youngjae deadpans, igniting a deep chortle in Daehyun. The grilled duck is a precise shade of bistre drizzled with an orange tenné sauce, flesh pink and sliced scrupulously. Smoked tuna sits enticingly under ginger mint salsa, presentation cutthroat and infallible.

"This is one of the rare times I see you drinking something other than Absinthe," Youngjae remarks. "You have a really high alcohol tolerance, drinking it straight."

"Don't worry. The one I carry around is diluted," Daehyun dismisses, dusky eyes blearing. "Absinthe is a beautiful drink, hm? It was the favourites of people like Pablo Picasso."

"What do you like about it?" Youngjae asks sincerely. 

"The taste is so wondrous, don't you agree?" Daehyun swigs his red wine, smacking his lips. "It's minty like tea, but the flavour isn't as warm. It's bitter and it stings, too. Something about it just seems so... elegant, yet miserable at the same time."

"Poetic," Youngjae hums. "It's a peculiar flavour; that's for sure."

"Mm, yes. Only a few acquire the palate for it, sadly." Daehyun veers his gaze up, gnawing slowly on his fish. "What did Himchan talk to you about?" 

Youngjae raises his head questioningly. Daehyun clarifies, "That day when he sent you back. I don't believe that motor mouth won't yap his head off the moment he gets the chance to."

Despite the easygoing facade engulfing Daehyun's countenance, Youngjae notices the slight furrow of his brows and the thinning of his lips. Deliberately occupying himself with his food, Youngjae summarises vaguely, "He told me about the history of Cosmopolitan."

"Ah. When it was still a nightclub," Daehyun helpfully supplies. "I should have filled you in on the details; I'm sorry for missing that out." 

Rapping his fingers prepensely against the glass table top, Daehyun drapes a nonchalant smile across his face. "You can ask me anything you want, you know."

Gazing for a while longer, Youngjae discerns the flash of scrutinity in Daehyun's gaze. With the time clocked behind the bar, observing variation of masks and the faces underneath bleeding out over the alcohol, Youngjae has long learnt to read the minuscule signs that give away the common man's true intents. Knowing he might stir some tension between Himchan and Daehyun, he carefully gives an answer.

"For starters, why is our tagline  _best, absolute, perfect_? Isn't that broken English?"

Daehyun bursts out into a guffaw at the interrogating question, pinching his nose bridge embarrassedly. "Blame Junhong for that, will you? I don't have the heart to change it since he's so attached to it."

"Alright," Youngjae chortles, the malleable tension clutching to Daehyun's dreary eyes. Daehyun urges him on with a wordless smile.

"Himchan told me you were quite the famous one. People from the other end of Korea came for your drinks," Youngjae mentions. 

Daehyun sways his head to one side, humbly waving away the compliment. "He's exaggerating."

The praises Youngjae has heard of Daehyun certainly speak the contrary. Youngjae sets down his fork with a gratified hum, patting his stomach. "How were things like back then?"

"Well... it was very different," Daehyun rebounds, raising his glass to his mouth. "And very messy. We ran into trouble constantly with how reckless the patrons were." He reclines into his seat and melts into a bare coil of the lips. The smile does not refract through his dimly lit pupils. "Brings back a lot of memories."

"To revamp it into an elite bar is kind of drastic," Youngjae remarks, resting his head against his propped up hand.

"It was necessary. The place lacked organisation and it was starting to weigh down on our revenue," Daehyun intones. His clasp on the stem of his wine glass seems to be wavering. Youngjae squints harder but he can't discern whether or not Daehyun is trembling or it's his own intoxicated vision that's shaky.

Red wine smears slightly across Daehyun's cheek like a lipstick stain as he puts down the glass. Youngjae continues, "Why didn't you continue on as the bartender?"

Daehyun pats his mouth with tissue, shrugging as the linen gradually reddens. "It was a number of things. Timing, efficiency, and what was the best for everyone as a whole. I figured what we lacked was structure, so I decided to focus on managing the bar. It was something I should have done from the very start; I overestimated myself and thought I could juggle both positions," he reminisces.

"Besides, over the years, what I loved... started to feel burdensome. So I gave it up." He nudges his clean plate forward and exhales in satisfaction. 

"I'm glad I did," Daehyun concludes with a soft smile. "A fair trade, hm? I met you."

"You're the same age as me and you're running a bar like Cosmopolitan." Youngjae cautiously avoids addressing Daehyun's sweet nothing, bashful heat tapping on his cheeks. "I'd be really impressed if I were your parents."

"Thank you," Daehyun gratefully beams. "I know my own parents wouldn't be, so it means a lot." 

The air instantly stiffens around them, forlornness scribbling openly onto Youngjae's face. Daehyun apologetically gazes back.

"Don't feel bad, Youngjae," he breathes. "I'm sorry I keep putting you in a difficult position. These kind of things don't matter to me so I can be very thoughtless when talking about them."

"You're not," Youngjae blurts. "I just..." 

He drifts off, studying the pitck darkness trapped within Daehyun's blown irises. His eyes seem to be eternally imprisoned in one season, blaring winter entrenched into the relentless gloom of his pupils.

"Why wouldn't your parents be proud?" Youngjae speaks softly, afraid to shatter the twilight inhabiting Daehyun's eyes. Daehyun hesitates, clearly debating on whether to say more. Wondering if he had touched a sore spot, Youngjae guiltily averts his gaze.

"You don't have to trouble yourself with my past, Youngjae," Daehyun starts reassuringly. "But since you asked, I'll tell you everything. I want you to know that there aren't any secrets between us. You mean that much to me."

Youngjae nods quickly. He wonders if any of Daehyun's flings have ever pried. Some may want to know out of warped curiosity, like watching a nine o'clock drama of tragic backstories, but he wants to know so he can be there for Daehyun. For someone to open up his own business at such a young age, the feat is commendable yet wryly saddening. Had Daehyun ever gotten a chance to be a normal child when he was young?

"To begin with, I did ruin my mother's life," Daehyun impassively states but he promptly softens his tone for Youngjae's sake. "They were stupid teens who made a mistake. Not so much my father, though. It's another of those clichéd love stories. My father was a poor man madly in love with a rich girl. They were drunk and I was conceived through their one-night stand."

"My mother was the only daughter of a reputable family. God knows why they didn't get an abortion." Youngjae sharply winces at this point, watching as Daehyun languidly bats his lashes. "Think it's because my grandparents were religious so they couldn't get rid of me—but either way, my father and my mother got married to save face and I was born."

"My mother's side hated my father with all their guts and my mother herself hated him too. You know. For robbing her of her future and everything," Daehyun continues. "If you're curious how I know, my father never bothered to hide anything from me. That includes how much my mother loathed me as well."

"I remember little of my mother, honestly. She wasn't at home much. The times she were, she yelled a lot at my father." The guttural laughter that brews from Daehyun's reticent lips has Youngjae shrinking back. 

"Hm, you know, I don't remember her ever holding me or even looking at me," Daehyun muses candidly, like trying to recall what time he'd woken up yesterday. It's unsettling—the way his mien wraps around his face, how it digs into his cheeks and entrenches itself within his blunt smile despite the misery he spills so smoothly.

"In the end, I guess the pain got to my father's head and he snapped. To be hated by the one you love and all." Daehyun playfully purses his lips, imitating the sound effect of an explosion. "Bam! After the car crash, I was orphaned."

"My grandparents gave me some cash to scram and told me not to associate myself with the family. So I bought this out-of-business nightclub and gathered Himchan and Yongguk." He claps his hand with a resounding cheer. "And voila! Cosmopolitan was born."

In spite of Daehyun's mirthful tone and how he pauses like waiting for a standing ovation, Youngjae bites down on his lip and turns away. They submerge in a hundred feet deep silence, the cruelness of it all rotting in Youngjae's head. He had thought these sort of sob stories were only strung for show; they only existed in the pitiful fairy tales that promised everything got better.

"Come, let's not think about something so depressing. How about I show you my absinthe cabinet?" Daehyun's eyes glimmer with a wondrous shine, excited by his own suggestion. 

He abruptly twirls Youngjae up to his feet and guides him down the hallways, familiar masterpieces breezing past in their periphery. They come to a vintage green door contrasting with the rest of the ivory walls, a golden decorative mail slot fixed to it. Its pillar is made of lumber logs, a canopy of leaves shading the top. Several ornamental vines are tangled along the outline of the door.

"This is where the green fairy lives," Daehyun cheekily whispers, swinging open the door and keeping his hold on Youngjae's hand tight. For added humour, he peeks in first before letting Youngjae in, drawing up sweet chortles from the man behind.

Unlike the minimalist, modern furnishing lining the hallways, Daehyun's absinthe cupboard houses stout and freshly scented wooden floorboards. Entranced, Youngjae swivels on his heel, eyes missing not a single nook and cranny of the room. It seems like a tree house, cabinets crafted from umber wood and decorative plants twisting to sketch emerald onto the mahogany. The gargantuan multitude of bottles glistens stunningly under the apricot-coloured light, a modest wooden bar at the far corner.

There's a still stream along one side of the room, a canoe floating within and a well beside where the river starts. Behind the boat is a carving of a familiar boy and girl. And right in the middle of all this wonder stands a porcelain sculpture.

Youngjae approaches the female statue in rapture, admiring her dress woven from leaves hugging her curves. Her eyes are closed, details of her lashes ingrained into marble along with her carmine lips and sharp nose. Magnificent, glimmering wings hang upon from her snowy pale back, the elegant figure sitting on the edge of a circular table with one hand imitating a clasp.

"Welcome to the enchanted forest," Daehyun proclaims mischievously, pulling a bottle from the shelves. Every fraction of the room is classically themed, except for one cupboard with a silver digital lock. It's filled with loads of glass bottles, all chiselled with a familiar label.  _Jack & Jill._

"Daehyun, this is beautiful," Youngjae wheezes, walking a circle around the fairy statue. An [absinthe fountain](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Absinthiana#Water_drip) sits by her other hand along with a row of intricate [absinthe spoons](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Absinthiana#Absinthe_spoon).

Daehyun nuzzles his nose into Youngjae's neck, whispering, "Thank you. I put a lot of effort into designing this room. You're one of the few I've shown it to."

The asylum has an extraordinarily soothing feel to it. Daehyun grabs a bottle of absinthe from the unchained cupboards, pouring two glasses for them. He balances the spoons over the rims, gingerly slotting the sugar cubes under the faucets. The water delicately dissolves the sugar, squares deforming as the olive liquid blanches.

"These have the same markings as the one you always drink," Youngjae says, staring through the glass of the chained cabinet.

"Mm," Daehyun hums, pacing up to Youngjae as the tap drips to a regular tempo. "These are my experiments. I'm trying to replicate the traditional Absinthe from back then."

His eyes brighten with a fervid intrigue, reflections of constellations ambitious boys would persistently reach for. "I want to know what exactly was it that had people thinking this drink made them go mad—to make them [ban](http://mic.com/articles/50301/why-was-absinthe-banned-for-100-years-a-mystery-as-murky-as-the-liquor-itself) it for a hundred years."

"A century..." Youngjae echoes thoughtfully. He steps away, returning his attention to the statue. 

"She looks like she's holding a drink," he comments in intrigue, mapping out the fairy's fingers. He recoils in shock at the cold texture, making Daehyun laugh heartily.

"I installed a cooler into her hand." He takes an empty glass and slips it into the sculpture's clasp, removing it and smiling proudly when Youngjae prods at it in astonishment. 

"That's crazy," Youngjae beams in awe, experimentally taking his Absinthe Drip and putting it in the fairy's hold. It chills in just a matter of minutes.

"Here, take a seat," Daehyun suggests.

Youngjae settles down in the opposite chair, the fairy's back facing Youngjae. From this angle, Daehyun is slightly obscured by the statue's arm. The set-up almost makes it seem like the fairy is coyly flirting with Daehyun, offering him a drink.

"Cheers." Their glasses clink and the palatable [absinthe drip](http://liquor.com/recipes/absinthe-drip/) diffuses bittersweet onto Youngjae's tongue. The moment he pries away the glass from his lips, Daehyun zealously claims the bartender's mouth.

 

\--

 

It has become a recurrence for Youngjae to wind up at Daehyun's place after work sometimes, laughter held between wine corks and tender kisses. Youngjae personally sees it as a sweet distraction, since being alone in his dingy apartment lets his mind asks too many questions about his future. Nights with Daehyun often wrap up with Youngjae curled in the sheets, their shallow breaths and intertwined fingers blooming a giddy euphoria. The shadow of Daehyun's lips are tattooed into the fabric of Youngjae's skin and the most confidential of pleasure landmines, the space between Youngjae's legs accustomed to Daehyun's hips.

In the morning, Daehyun's house is a maze left for Youngjae to explore. It begins with the cupboards, flooded with clothes and accessories Daehyun buys ever so often for Youngjae. The master bedroom is hung with the remnants of Daehyun's silhouette and Youngjae's laughter, now moulded to welcome two. Daehyun himself is a puzzle, pieces of him concealed within the walls. 

Daehyun's bar in his bachelor suite varies only a slight bit from the one in Cosmopolitan. It upholds a similar, virtuous glamour and charisma, all smooth curls and inerrant buzzes.The only difference is that Daehyun's bar is his personal sanctuary, the only place where he freely flaunts his bartending prowess.

"We should skip work today and go sightseeing," Daehyun suggests, spectating Youngjae's ministrations by the bar.

"I'm questioning if you're fit to be manager right now," Youngjae deadpans, the other emitting a cackle.

"It's because of you, gorgeous. You're my Achilles' heel," Daehyun returns smoothly. 

Youngjae pointedly ignores him and nudges back the [blue Curaçao](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cura%C3%A7ao_%28liqueur%29) into place, adjusting the swirl of white cotton candy from the rim down the glass. The solitary chunk of ice stays afloat in the indigo, iridescent hue transitioning from a light blaze to a hazy grime. Daehyun contemplates the polished gradient, plucking off some candy to devour.

"Very dazzling," Daehyun regards, inciting a bashful smile in Youngjae. He experimentally sips, nodding in favour at the dull acerbic taste thumps down his palate. "What's the inspiration behind it?"

Along the transparent glass, beryl sinks down several shades into cobalt, the variation rather sinister. "The ocean and the sky," Youngjae provides. "The gradient represents both day to night and the depth of the sea."

"You're very creative," Daehyun cajoles, slurping once again as he deliberates.

"Titanic?" He bemuses, prodding ever so slightly at the irregular shaped ice. "How nice of you to recreate one of the biggest tragedies in history," he teases with a click of the tongue.

Youngjae pokes his forehead, laughing. "Isn't the director of the movie much worse?"

"Touche." The cocktail slowly tints Daehyun's teeth teal, Daehyun laughing lowly. "Do you remember the first time you met me? You gave me a [Blue Kamikaze](http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink1390.html) and said it looked like me."

He swirls the cocktail lightly, chewing up the cotton candy. "What part of blue do I look like?" Daehyun muses, dragging a finger down the glass and gathering nervous condensation.

He stops at the murky ultramarine bottom and taps at it. "According to you, I'm around here." He raises his head, ruminating with interest.

"I thought I would be associated with a brighter colour, or at least a smart green. This shade of blue is quite depressing," Daehyun chuckles, taking another swig. The white of his eyes are fadedly ashen. 

"I didn't mean that," Youngjae apologetically says. Daehyun gulps down the rest of cocktail and meanders over to him, latching their lips and traversing a bridge of flowing cerulean. "I know," Daehyun placates when he pulls away, thumbing the man's cheek.

"You know, blue reminds me of winter," he continues as he slips away, crouching down to the stereo system and flicking on a classic ballad. "And winter makes me think of slow dances by the fireplace."

Van Morrison draws the air with languid beats and husky tones, perfecting the spotlight for a slow dance. Daehyun courtly extends a hand, the gesture painting Youngjae's neck with a lovely flush. "May I have this dance?"

Youngjae chuckles, brewing a pleased grin in Daehyun. "You're so spontaneous," Youngjae sighs with an embarrassed smile, placing a hand over Daehyun's and another on his shoulder. The tempo guides their feet to drizzle across the room, buoyant in the morning's glory, and they lose themselves in one another's eyes.

"I would take you to a ballroom," Daehyun says, winding his stout arms around Youngjae's waist, "but you'd insist on staying in, like you always do."

He hums a tune to the sentimental chorus, reciting the lyrics by Youngjae's ear. They waltz back and forth against the cool afternoon, Daehyun's breath like an autumn breeze.

"I'm happy you found me," Youngjae whispers, romance enlacing the fibre of his batting, entranced lashes. "So, very happy."

Daehyun's chuckle bends the wind into caricatures of intimacy. "It should be the other way round. I'm by far the happiest man on earth to have found my missing half. I'm glad I revamped Cosmopolitan and found you."

"The old Cosmopolitan must have made riches for you," Youngjae pipes. "To upgrade it into such a fine place." They sway to the supple tambourines and glossy guitar chords, footsteps tapping a light count into the tiles.

"...Not exactly," Daehyun lowers his pitch, hand mapping the curvatures of Youngjae's hips. He emits a crestfallen exhale suffuses, immediately inciting Youngjae's attention.

"I said I wouldn't keep anything from you," Daehyun coughs, "even if it ruins your impression of me." Youngjae's clasp slips as his consternation clings onto their conversation.

"We were in a tight situation; Cosmopolitan had been making losses for months consecutively and I couldn't get a loan," he explains. "I told you about my grandparents, right?"

Youngjae nods, listening intently. Daehyun hums, "They were very well-off. And I couldn't ask them for help since they loathed me."

"But I realised they feared me too," Daehyun supplies, loosening his grip as the song soothes to a close. "I brought them shame and they didn't want me anywhere near them, so I used that to my advantage."

Daehyun lets go of Youngjae, retreating to look him straight in the eyes. "I blackmailed them. If they didn't comply—or tried to pull anything—I'd let the entire world know their prim, precious daughter was a slut who had a son all this while."

"Whatever I have right now, the things I bought, were all paid for using that money," Daehyun states, voice dissipating into a cold-cut brazeness. His gaze is almost challenging, awaiting Youngjae's response. This is the very person who generously pampers their young staff, spends lavishly on his lover and walks with an unsurpassable class. Youngjae has always held him in high regard, so what will he think of Daehyun now that he's revealed himself to be nothing but a disappointing fraud? That he's simply staged a lovely show that holds nothing past the curtain call?

"Are you still glad I found you?" Daehyun whispers, seemingly trying to provoke a response out of Youngjae. A momentary silence curls around them.

Youngjae tugs him forward and locks their lips, revelling in Daehyun's acidic flavour of chiselled teeth and potent absinthe. They pull away from one another, Daehyun's infatuated gaze transfixed on Youngjae.

The words spill naturally like the drip of a Mimosa. "Yeah," Youngjae whispers, brushing past Daehyun as he paces to their bedroom. Abruptly, Youngjae is spun around and slammed against the wall, Daehyun's lascivious drive rearing thunderously as he claims Youngjae's lips.

"You..." Daehyun wheezes, slipping a hand down Youngjae's shorts and massaging his groin. Youngjae chokes out a weak breath as Daehyun runs his tongue down Youngjae's adam's apple. "You'll really be the death of me one day."

  
 

\--

  
 

If Youngjae knew any book better than the back of his hand, it would be the story of the Ant and the Grasshopper. It was a classic which his parents absolutely revered, having read the fable to their children who wept from sleepless nights and dreamt consequently of grass and snow. The lesson was taught simply: the grasshopper who played starved in the freezing cold while the ant who worked hard lived well through the winter. The latter was the ideal while the former was, well, bad.

There was never much of an alternative to what his parents decided. For years Youngjae thought accordingly and there was no trouble with that—it made sense to live the way he did. There were times where he stepped back and looked at his life as a bigger picture, but he told himself not to question what he would never get the answers to. Sure, the routine seemed a bit questionable on days he pried open his eyes and watched the world awake with nine to five haggard eyes and the dreariness of caffeine-stained sleeves. After all, once he was born, things were already planned for him: he would study first, and then he would work.

Of course, he knew it was all to live comfortably. If he didn't like the standard lifestyle, he could starve out on the streets all he wanted under penny tosses and sympathetic gazes. So he thought less and took a standard route. Still, it unnerved him to know he would spend a good twenty years studying and possibly the rest of his life working.

Jiho was a contradiction in the family and he revelled in outright condemning the status quo. It was foolish of his brother to behave so childishly as though he could achieve anything by going against the system. He was an idealist, a terribly starry-eyed one at that, and Youngjae thought him stupid for believing he could somehow survive in the rat race with his vain, pretentious venture for self-fulfillment. He would mature someday and come to regret it years down the road while pinching pennies and just barely scraping through bills.

Jiho never came back after his first attempt to run away from home. He left behind nothing but his diary which Youngjae swiped out of a thin curiosity. As he read of Jiho's queer dreams of dying early with his wholly barren music career, Youngjae thought him to be a lunatic but came to understand a little more that happiness did come in different forms. It all depended on what one believed was worth the trade. If the grasshopper thought singing all day and having to brace the bristling winter subsequently was fine, who was the ant to criticise him?

"Hey, beautiful," Daehyun greets, Youngjae looking up with a small smile as he arranges the spirits along the bar counter. Daehyun sits down, glancing the clock ticking down to opening time.

"I have to go out for a while," he informs, picking up his usual flask of Absinthe and swirling it into a glass. "I'll come back to send you home." He downs the fern-dyed liquid and exhales lightly.

"You don't have to. I can always take the bus," Youngjae provides, adoring Daehyun's acute jawline and the crumples by his eyelids. "I'm more concerned over who you're meeting. You keep leaving halfway," he jokes, folding his arms across the bar.

Daehyun feigns an offended gasp. "Are you saying I'm cheating on you? You know I would never, darling." He kisses Youngjae's every finger, lingering at the last to suckle on it.

"That's because I'm the affair," Youngjae offers, pulling away and thumbing Daehyun's stubble. Daehyun nestles against Youngjae's warmth, pressing his lips to Youngjae's palm.

"Can I prove my love by asking you out on a date?" He unveils a book from his coat, a tree in a long meadow adorning the cover. A bookmark peeks out from between, revealing doves in an azure, cloudy sky.

"I made reservations for two at Jung Sik Dang," Daehyun beams. "And I won't take no for an answer. You never let me bring you out," he breathes against Youngjae's hand, whining when Youngjae slips out of his grasp.

"I'm a social hermit by nature," Youngjae reminds, skimming through the paperback. He squints at the bookmark, a time, date and address scrawled under the birds. "Thank you," he whispers as happiness permeates his syllables, "I'm excited."

"That's all I needed to hear," Daehyun murmurs, nuzzling their noses. Hyosung struts by at this moment, purposefully snorting in the most off-putting tone she can garner.

"You know, I never formally tested your bartending skills," Daehyun begins, ignoring Hyosung fully. "Once you said yes, I hired you."

Youngjae chuckles and clicks his tongue. "Why? Are you regretting your decision now?"

Daehyun suavely smirks, knuckle between his teeth. "Well... It seems a little unfair I just let you join us like this."

"Fine. Test me now, then," Youngjae jests back as he rinses the bar tools. Daehyun taps his chin in thought and after a long deliberation, he offers a smile.

"What do you need for a [Screaming Orgasm](http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink1817.html)?" Daehyun questions with his brows raised.

Youngjae frowns instinctively. "I'd be dead not to know that. How about I make it for you?"

Youngjae whips out the shaker, hauling out Vodka, [Amaretto](http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink1817.html), [Kahlúa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kahl%C3%BAa) and [Bailey’s Irish Cream](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baileys_Irish_Cream) from the shelves. He tosses each bottle into the air, nimbly juggling the numerous spiralling props. He spins the Vodka bottle above the rim of the shaker, clipping it by his arm as fluid drizzles into hard metal. Layers by layers melt into one another, topping off the collected finish with a casual shake. Youngjae strains a thick, wheat brown fluid into a shot glass and prods it over to Daehyun.

"That was hot," Daehyun growls provocatively and sends his boyfriend a smirk. "I saw you do [flair bartending](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60GJ0dJ1xmE) that one time where you used to work, but up close, it's much more irresistible."

Daehyun gulps down the shot, tongue grazing the leftover residue on his lips.

"But... you're wrong."

Youngjae blinks in astonishment. "What?" He scours over the bottles taken out, inwardly breezing through the recipe in his mind for any faults. He's sure he got all of what he needed for the cocktail.

He misses the amused look Daehyun casts him as the manager simmers into a fleeting chuckle. Daehyun tilts Youngjae's bewildered face upwards, stealing a sweet kiss from the bartender.

"All you need is me." Daehyun strides off, coat ends trailing behind trying to catch up with him. Youngjae stares at the empty glass for a moment, before the humiliating realisation dawns on him.

Youngjae yells and Daehyun’s laughter reverberates down the aisle, like brass bells chiming in the gale.

 

\--

 

[ _What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough._ ](http://books.google.com.sg/books/about/And_Our_Faces_My_Heart_Brief_as_Photos.html?id=45Uh3snWIoIC&redir_esc=y)

"Bonjour, love." A breathy purr tickles Youngjae's ear as he chuckles, clipping the bookmark between and closing the book Daehyun had given him.

"Last I checked, this was a Korean restaurant," Youngjae teases, pecking Daehyun on the cheek. "Hello."

Daehyun holds out an alluring bouquet of red roses and white lilies, Youngjae receiving it with a flustered blush. "You look absolutely stunning," Daehyun utters, returning Youngjae's chaste kiss.

The paragraph Youngjae had just read taps rain into the back of his mind as Daehyun occupies the opposite seat. "Thank you," Youngjae answers, inhaling the nectarous scent of the flowers.

"I'm sorry; I didn't know you would be here so early." The Seoul skyline brilliantly curtails the amber eventide, the incandescent roads a parade of city lights blazing vividly. The vast expanse of shimmering gold, occasionally peppered with jarring neon colours, paints a concoction of the man-made and concrete. Daehyun's reflection evaporates in the scandalous auroras, nightlife of charred secrecy swelling in shadows.

"I wanted to see you as soon as I could," Youngjae divulges, blinking when Daehyun gazes back with a dazed expression. Daehyun diffuses into a bland exhale and a silly grin, Youngjae melting into an incomprehensible jubilance as well.

"I have a gift for you too," Youngjae mumbles nervously, revealing a navy blue box. "I'm sorry; it's not much."

Daehyun curiously unsesals it, humming mirthfully at his find. A majestic silver Absinthe spoon lays on the maroon satin cushion, bowl formed from an exquisite Chinese calligraphy. [ _现实_](http://en.bab.la/dictionary/chinese-english/%E7%8E%B0%E5%AE%9E).

"It's beautiful. Thank you," Daehyun gushes, admiring the handiwork and filling Youngjae with relief. Daehyun pockets the present and hands Youngjae a menu. The chatter of the sophisticated elites comprises the backdrop as they stare sweetly at one another, revelling in the light jazz.

"I haven't eaten at a restaurant like this before," Youngjae confesses bashfully as he skims through the menu.

"Shall I order everything for you, then? You can decide what you want when it comes."

Youngjae blankly stares at Daehyun for a moment and amusedly huffs, "How about I just get whatever you're getting?"

"I like my alternative better," Daehyun complains, though he acquiesces anyway. The waiter glides over to take their orders and they simmer into a lovely, heartfelt conversation. As the tempo of the day slows down into a lavish night, their lovesick stares twines with their saccharine laughter, along with brief touches under the tablecloth and jokes of colleagues.

It feels like a dream to be dining at such a high-end establishment. Youngjae still has not grown accustomed to the countless exorbitant presents Daehyun spoils him with, and he guesses he should be thankful Daehyun set his eyes on a plain, college boy like him. Yet, as corny and trite as it is, Daehyun is himself what makes Youngjae's heart palpitations sizzle like imploding fireworks on an overrated New Year's day.

Where they're heading with all of this, Youngjae isn't sure, but he is certain they can leave things as they are now. Marriage can barely even be considered with their relationship so fresh and undefined.

"Where would you like to go now?" Daehyun drapes his blazer over Youngjae, possessively wringing his arm around the other's waist. They exit the restaurant, dwelling in the comforts of luxury into the cool Cheongdam-dong. "Shall we go wine tasting? I can book a room at the Grand Hyatt."

Youngjae widens his eyes, hurriedly waving the proposition away. "How about we go watch a movie?"

Daehyun veers his head to Youngjae, nightfall drenching his shoulders and lining his thick physique. "At a movie theatre?" He uncertainly clarifies, interlocking their hands.

"Yeah."

"If that's what you want," Daehyun finishes, their skin brushing as they stroll to the parking lot.

"But do you want to?" Youngjae meekly asks. The line of Porsches and Rolls-Royce stack the perimetre, screaming the lavishly unneeded and appetence to flaunt.

"Of course. Anything you want," Daehyun assures complaisantly, opening the car door for Youngjae.

"There's a cinema by Gangnam station," Youngjae supplies, swinging into the convertible. He massages the unease from Daehyun's arm. "Are you really okay with it?" 

"Yeah. I just haven't watched a movie in a public theatre in a long while," Daehyun admits, snivelling as the wind howls past the whooshing Lamborghini. "The last time I did was in high school."

"That's really long..." Youngjae mutters. "Well, we can make up for what you've been missing, then."

Daehyun chortles lightly, stretching out his arm to caress Youngjae's cheek. "Are you sure you don't want to go anywhere else? You don't have to be shy. Just ask."

Youngjae shakes his head. In spite of the tranquil jazz spelling poise and the impeccable, Youngjae thinks of indie folk music in cafés and shy freshmen couples on their first date. Coffee frappés instead of the white wine they had indulged in, a sweet, unadulterated innocence spinning a new slant to their tangled legs under the table. Some would consider it a step backwards in their relationship, from rough sex to innocuous outings, but Youngjae would still like to see it once in a while. 

Youngjae delicately grasps Daehyun's free hand, interlacing fingers as embarrassed valentines do. Daehyun glances over with an amused smile. They arrive at the theatre in ten minutes, Youngjae hopping in briskly to peruse the movie timings.

"People are staring," Daehyun whispers with a chortle, their attire overly formal for a trip to a shabby cinema.

"Let them," Youngjae cheekily returns. They mull over the movies available and pick a random fantasy film.

Settling down into a decently filled theatre, dimness shades their faces and clothes, ripping away the curious bystanders' eyes. Youngjae comfortably snuggles against Daehyun, covering both of them with the jacket Daehyun draped over him.

The envisagement of high school students on a date after school pleasantly dribbles into Youngjae's mind as he tightly interlocks hands with Daehyun. Daehyun probably never had the time to entertain the stress from homework, burning the midnight oil and panicking over poor scores with friends like other kids do. Youngjae rests his head on Daehyun's shoulder as Daehyun tenderly massages the other's thigh. The movie isn't much—of the anti-hero Sandman who steals away the children's nightmarish reality and gives them the comfort of dreamy, eternal sleep—but it's still sweet to see Daehyun watching the big screen keenly.

As the long-awaited ending rolls, Daehyun leans over and presses his lips to Youngjae's, stealing his attention for those wondrous few minutes. The lights gradually cram the nocturnal theatre, chasing away darkness and bringing the moviegoers back to reality. They never do find out if the children wake up but it does not matter. Daehyun slips the clipped tickets into his wallet after musing over them for a moment, a dazed smile worn over his chapped lips.

"How was it?" Youngjae asks as they follow the throng out into the streets, holding hands tightly.

"Quite the experience," Daehyun shares with an intrigued grin. "It really has been a long time. At first, I was wondering what you were doing when we walked in, looking at the floor, then I realised you were reading the row numbers."

Youngjae melts into a hearty laugh, getting into the car as the engine roars to life. "Why don't you go see movies?" He questions offhandedly.

Daehyun wryly grimaces in response. "Well, I don't exactly fancy them—but I don't hate them, either. Yongguk, Himchan and Junhong asked me a few times but... Yongguk has a rather disturbing obsession with war movies. He tends to freak out over them."

Youngjae laughs hard, Daehyun cruising down the main street as the lighting brims against the consuming night. "Himchan does the same, except over romcoms. He screams for the women and the men, so it's twice the horror. For Junhong, I'd rather leave him and Jongup alone. Youngsters."

He turns, diving down another tunnel of juxtaposed asphalt and artificial lighting. "My exes were spendthrifts, so a movie date was out of the question. You're my first."

"You talk about yourself like you're an old man," Youngjae chortles unabashedly, shoving Daehyun away when he leans over and cheekily blows against Youngjae's neck.

"Have I ever told you how much I love the way you laugh?" Daehyun breathes, nestling his nose into Youngjae's collarbone momentarily.

"Come on. Don't tell me you've never had a movie date when you were younger?" Youngjae teases.

"Nope. My first love was... very imprudent. She would never go to such places."

Youngjae visibly tenses, the mention of Daehyun's girlfriend beating into his mind. Daehyun does not miss the reaction, glancing over casually.

"Himchan told you, hm?" Daehyun exhales, face devoid of any irateness.

Youngjae twiddles his fingers and answers quietly, "Just a bit. He left out all the details." He adds a weak apology at the end.

"I wanted to tell you myself. I was just waiting for the right time," Daehyun remarks, impassiveness doubling tenfold. Instead of the usual urbane composure and languid smiles, a prominent apathy and detachment saturates Daehyun's thinned irises. 

"How much did he say?"

"...Not much. Just that you had a lot of flings and a first love," Youngjae murmurs. The air seems to quail with a wretched tautness, Youngjae shrinking back into his seat. Even though Himchan had barely said anything, the manner in which he spoke of Daehyun falling apart still scorches into Youngjae's ribs.

"Did he tell you about my drug addiction?" Daehyun question, confession not once breaching his indifferent tone. When Youngjae nods gingerly, Daehyun emanates a lengthy sigh, silence divorcing the two from conversation.

"She was the one who got me into drugs," Daehyun clarifies, a resigned strain to its timbre. Youngjae hangs his head low and listens quietly.

"We met a few years ago, when I was still bartending. She was a very charming person; she knew what to say, when to say, what to not, when to not," Daehyun recounts, a bitter nostalgia drenching his tone. "Very sophisticated. You know how men are. When we're young, we always go for the classy, older ones."

"She always came to the club by herself and sat by the bar. As I got to know her, I realised she was quite broken," Daehyun muses, stare fixated on the road. His relaxed fingers stretch themselves, Daehyun's face unperturbed. "She put up the act of being wealthy, but in truth, she was so poor she sold her body several times to get by."

Youngjae catches Daehyun's sudden grit of his jaw, the gesture vanishing as fast as it materialised. "I learnt she struggled because she was addicted to drugs." The ambiguous silhouette of Daehyun's young self, perhaps scrawny and doe eyed, draws itself across the windscreen.

"It was an escape for her, I guess. A wonderland," Daehyun breathes raspily, the first fissure in his dispassionate composure. "I loved her so I tried to fix her, but in the end, I broke and was strung along into her world. She was a queen there—a much better prospect than what she was here. A prostitute obsessed with the well-to-do."

The poignance is so stark it masticates all in sight, wolfing up those who even remotely hinted they had a better chance at happiness. An orphaned bartender and a broke prostitute, what more would be to a love like theirs?

"It was a beautiful place. Everyday, we'd take the pills so we could go back. Just the two of us." Daehyun bats his lashes against his dark circles and his voice shrivels just the slightest bit. "It consumed me. There was nothing else but her and our little haven to me, and I lost touch with all the people I knew."

Greenish veins crawl up Daehyun's brawny arm as he submerges in a fifty feet deep solemness. Melancholy rips apart the rich laughter down Gangnam and Youngjae withers at the clenching stillness.

“What happened after that?” Youngjae whispers, flinching at the cracked silence. For the first time, despite his static lips and measured breathing, Daehyun's barren irises flood with such profound grief the stunned time stops to peer.

"She passed on."


	5. Chapter 5

Against the bristling chill, Daehyun recounted a tale of a reverse Cinderella. An absolutely gorgeous woman visited the bar at exactly midnight everyday and wove an illusion of perfection after the clock struck twelve. With the precise tempo of her glass slippers and how she sultrily ordered an Absinthe drip, Daehyun had been enchanted from the moment he first set eyes on Han Sunhwa.

Perhaps it was the coil of her lips that hauled prey out of water, or maybe, the languid flutters of her eyes that flit like fairy wings—but something had indeed tipped Daehyun over into Sunhwa's endless, dilated pupils. She reeked of poise and the unattainable, dousing herself in sparkles to emulate the starry night. It was part of a ploy to seem the very thing boys reached out for at the edge of the field, hand outstretched and grasping onto the taunting sky.

Daehyun fell hard and fast, snapping his neck at Sunhwa's every whim in his haste to appease her. She was a stunningly beautiful woman who embodied class, contrasting vastly with the unruly patrons. For someone so ethereal, Daehyun saw to it that everything she received was equally as pretty. Raspberry blushes and La Vie en Rose, sprinkled with hibiscus petals and mint feathers—all on the house to impress a girl too good for a bartender.

They first kissed over an Absinthe martini, a four-leaved clover donning its rim. Sunhwa had plucked a leaf and told Daehyun that there was no use for luck. It was unfathomable, with the contrary glaring them down through shabby lights, humid stenches and tragic backstories. A week later, Sunhwa showed him exactly why. She slipped him just a fingertip of her fairy dust and strung him along for the ride down the rabbit hole.

Through magic beans paid for with the meager cash Cosmopolitan fought every night to earn, Jack and Jill ascended the beanstalk to a heaven of their own. And there began Daehyun's plunge into Wonderland.

"I'm sorry." Daehyun's voice cracks Youngjae's stupor, whisper bristling the hair on Youngjae's neck. Daehyun tugs the blanket up to Youngjae's chin and sighs, "It must have been very burdensome."

The night shivers with an astounding chill as wind seems to draft uncannily from Daehyun's Absinthe cabinet. Youngjae rolls over and shakes his head, gently grasping Daehyun's face and earnestly staring into his eyes.

"Thank you for telling me," Youngjae whispers, combing Daehyun's fringe away from his brows. He sinks further into the pillow as he strokes Daehyun's jawline. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that. You're unbelievably brave, Daehyun."

A thought crosses his mind about how Daehyun may have looked like when he was young, all innocuous grins and buck teeth, and he reminds himself to ask Himchan about it. Maybe, if they had met earlier, they would be close friends with less pretense and more rawness.

"I told you this because you mean the world to me," Daehyun says softly, grasping Youngjae's wrist and nestling his nose into his palm. "I want you to know who I was in the past, and I want you to know too that I'm yours now."

Youngjae chuckles, thumb grazing Daehyun's eye circles. He delicately kisses the other's nose, speaking, "Do I need to say that I'm yours, too?" 

Daehyun laughs, slipping his hand up Youngjae's shirt onto his lower back. "You are mine," he purrs, drawing circles into Youngjae's skin. "I won't let you be anyone else's." Their contact is warm like chimney smoke, welcomed on a cold Tuesday where the gale blows a little harder.

"About my occasional disappearances during work hours," Daehyun randomly mentions, Youngjae squeezing Daehyun's shoulder every now and then, "those where I vaguely speak of meeting someone. I am... actually visiting Sunhwa. I'm sorry for being secretive. I would have told you earlier but I didn't think you were ready for something so daunting."

"You don't need to apologise. You should just go whenever you have to. There's no need to inform me," Youngjae returns quickly in consternation. Frankly, even if Daehyun was cheating on him, it is not as though they have branded themselves in a committed relationship. The thought barely worries Youngjae for now; he is more upset about Daehyun having to go all alone.

"You're so understanding," Daehyun remarks fondly, massaging Youngjae's thigh. "I'm thankful I met you, Youngjae. If only it could have been earlier."

Albeit the casual tone, the words stretch a raft of sympathy and pain. Youngjae presses their foreheads together, rubbing his thumb into the side of Daehyun's head.

"I wish you could have been happy," Youngjae whispers. Daehyun stills for that moment, a move terribly uncharacteristic.

"I am now," Daehyun answers, that nearly untraceable hint of dubiety rupturing Youngjae's heart.

"I'll do all I can to make it so," Youngjae promises, entangling every of their fingers. Daehyun stares and nods, gripping Youngjae tightly.

"...Are you okay?" Youngjae asks, whisper feeble. It's almost futile to question but Youngjae still asks.

"Never been better, with you by my side," Daehyun replies smoothly. Under the kiss of dusk, Daehyun bleeds only a startling monochrome.

"You can tell me anything," Youngjae offers earnestly. Daehyun simply nods and gently links their mouths.

The hours slip away into tangled lips and drawing slumber. His dream diffracts into the deepest depth of the ocean. Youngjae swims towards the sole dangling light source, alike to a glowing fairy. It bounces around in the waters as though hung from the rippling surface. Finally, Youngjae clasps the creature in his palms, only to be swallowed by a deceptive anglerfish.

Youngjae fleetingly wakes for that moment, reaching out and grasping nothing. For that night, Youngjae drowns in blindness despite his screams, trapped by tenaciously sealed teeth.

  
 

\--

  
 

A glimpse of long, hazelnut locks flashes in Youngjae's peripheral vision, the bartender lifting his head to greet the newly arrived female patron. Despite how her clothes embody panache and her face betrays no stoicism, the click-clacks of her heels are hesitant. She stops and glances around the bar, lowering her head hastily in acknowledgement as Youngjae bows to her.

She decidedly sits by the bar, stumbling upon crossing her legs and eyes darting about nervously. Upon closer inspection, the woman looks no older than twenty. Youngjae regards her kindly, softening his posture to ease her tension. "May I help you, miss?" Youngjae begins.

The girl coughs, evening out her pale rose dress. "Yes," she firmly states, before melting into a bout of dubiety with unsymmetrical lips. "Um, I want... a Cosmopolitan."

"Of course, miss," Youngjae returns. His fingers easily hook Vodka, Cointreau, lime juice and cranberry juice. Youngjae smiles fondly as the young female ogles in discreet awe, splash of city life and sovereign women before her eyes. A pink froth brims in the glass and she takes it, the girl gulping experimentally. 

She grimaces immediately and sucks in her lips. Youngjae concernedly watches as she coughs.

"S-sorry," she blurts out after composing herself, blush clambering to her cheekbones. "It, uh, stings."

She pats her throat, licking up pink from her glossy lips. "Is... is that supposed to happen?"

"For some," Youngjae returns. "You can avoid it by drinking slowly."

The girl nods in intrigue, glancing up sheepishly at Youngjae as she slips out her phone. "You don't mind, right?"

"No problem," Youngjae beams. The lady snaps a photo, swiping across the screen before putting her phone back into her purse. She hoists the rim to her lips, slurping with a thoughtful expression.

"Your first time drinking?" Youngjae asks genially. The girl parts her lips, glancing away momentarily before nodding.

"I was basically a walking Christmas tree in March, huh?" She mutters, straightening her posture and looking around. Youngjae offers her a warm smile.

"Don't worry. My chauffeur's outside. I can't drive... not  _yet_." Her lashes are clumped smoothly with mascara, traces of blue eyeshadow dabbed below her eyebrows.

"Should I... introduce myself? That's how the movies always go, right?"

"You can," Youngjae chuckles affably.

"Okay," the girl hums enthusiastically, tapping her drink curiously. "I'm Hayi. What's your name?"

Her expression suddenly wrenches, fingers reaching up to pinch her nose. "Sorry. I didn't see your name tag."

"Yoo Youngjae," the bartender says in any case, hoping to ease the girl of her embarrassment. Hayi nods stiffly, polished fingernails scraping the glass.

"It's a lot less... dramatic, than I expected," Hayi confesses. She sips again, shutting her eyes to swallow down the heat manifesting within.

Youngjae teases, "What were you expecting, miss?"

"I don't know. Some hunk to come up to me, maybe. Fall in love at first sight," Hayi jokes, curiously swirling the pink in her glass. It matches with her rosy lips, eyes outlined with ebony. "Lonely girls somehow always find company here in the dramas I watch."

Hayi takes another gulp and her face contorts in distaste. Youngjae quietly pulls out Malibu coconut rum and pineapple juice, smoothly serving up a Malibu bay breeze. Hayi flutters her lashes, inquisitively glimpsing up at the bartender.

"On the house," Youngjae provides. "I think you may like it better."

Hayi acquiesces and pushes away her originally ordered cocktail, downing the drink gradually. She smacks her lips with a pleased, drawn out hum. "It... tastes like the beach," Hayi muses with a blissful sigh. "Like the Carribean."

She flicks a prim finger towards her abandoned drink, grumbling, "That left a kind of bitter taste in my mouth."

"The alcohol's stronger in a Cosmo. You can't taste it as much in this one," Youngjae supplies. Hayi nods and twirls her drink, pulling her lips to the side as she scrutinises the bartender.

"I..." Hayi starts awkwardly, "I have a boyfriend."

Youngjae blinks rapidly, quickly deciphering Hayi's underlying meaning before smothering back a titter. "So do I," Youngjae shares, startling Hayi. "Oh! S-Sorry, I thought you were, uh, hitting on me or something." She hangs her head low in embarrassment, slender nails drawing shyness into the counter.

"It's okay," Youngjae instantly soothes and laughs it off.

"Wait, you're gay?" Hayi asks, cringing at her careless blurt. Youngjae good-naturedly returns, "Bisexual, I guess. Never really put it down into black and white." Hayi nods slowly, scratching lightly at her scalp.

"I thought you were waiting for a Prince Charming to show up," Youngjae jests, inwardly laughing when Hayi flushes. She mutters, "A girl can dream, right? What's life without a little romance?" She pesters the cherry sitting on the circumference of her glass with a finger, patting down the ruby stalk.

"Okay, just to clarify," Hayi blubbers, "I'm not loose. I don't go around waiting for guys to pick me up even though I'm engaged. It's just... arranged marriages can be really boring. I wouldn't mind a bit of cliched romance, finding true love and eloping to Antarctica or something."

"There's a lot of romance in freezing half to death," Youngjae jokes. Hayi bursts out into a cackle before abruptly quieting down with a wary cough. The small slip in sophistication draws a faux pas demeaningly around Hayi's bare shoulders. The women who visit Cosmopolitan are undoubtedly the most affluent, and therefore emanate only prim and properness. 

"You were match made?" Youngjae asks to distract her, patrons having whirred their heads. Hayi nods barely and plays with her thumbs. "My parents chose my fiancé. He's... a nice guy." She heaves and smacks her lips. "That's about it."

Hayi takes another sip and shuts her eyes, resting her chin on her propped up arms. "Now this is what I call relaxation," Hayi sighs in wonderment. "Feels like I'm all the way in the Bahamas. No pressure."

She stretches her arms casually, glancing up at Youngjae. "I heard a lot of stories about how people can get so tipsy they just walk out into traffic. I'm kinda worried that'll happen to me, but this has low alcohol content, right?"

Youngjae nods. "Malibu is only 42 proof."

Hayi snivels her nose, pulling her lips to the side. "I'm curious, though. What's it like to be drunk?"

Youngjae looks up in thought. He answers after a moment, "It's different for each person. Some get more confident, some completely forget who they are. Some go out and pee on the roads."

Hayi muffles back a mischievous guffaw. "What about you? What do you do when you're drunk?" She questions curiously. 

The last time Youngjae had gotten drunk was back in freshman year during an end-of-year frat party, and he had woken up bare to the face of a buff senior. He had not regretted the one night stand then despite limping for a three days, but he had been perturbed by his lack of self-control. Over the years, he had gradually built up a high alcohol tolerance, having spent much of his time experimenting on drinks.

"For me, it's more of knowing you're doing something you're not supposed to, but doing it anyway," Youngjae decides. Hayi hums in intrigue, nodding away.

"Today's my birthday. Just turned legal," Hayi admits bashfully. Youngjae parts his lips in surprise and congratulates cheerily, "Happy birthday, miss." He checks his watch, the time barely an hour past midnight. He considers ordering a cake for the girl, supposedly what Daehyun would encourage as good etiquette in an elite establishment like this, but Hayi interrupts his train of thought.

"You were the first to give me a present," Hayi laughs, prodding at the condensation spilling down the salmon-coloured drink. "Thank you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Youngjae assures. "You must be excited, huh? Coming here to celebrate straight on the dot."

"I was kind of nervous, actually," Hayi divulges, pulling a long face. "I was thinking I should come with my friends or my parents, since it's pretty dangerous drinking alone. But honestly? I'm not really close to them. And I don't want to seem like a baby. Besides," Hayi kneads her red cheek, the first signs of intoxication blooming in her tender skin, "I want to see the world for myself. Do something new all on my own." She breathes out lengthily. "That kind of freedom is hard to come around."

"The whole safety issue isn't really a problem, I guess. I mean, this being Cosmopolitan and all. My father told me this was the best bar around. The people who come here are trustworthy." Hayi gesticulates thinly at her surroundings. "Sorry. I'm blabbering."

Youngjae shakes his head politely and offers a smile. Hayi grins, tilting her cocktail towards the man. "I'm glad you're the bartender. I was thinking maybe it'd be some old dude who I'd be super awkward with. I'm lucky."

The innocent baring of her teeth reminds Youngjae shortly of Jaebum's simpers. He had dropped by his ex-campus the other day upon reading that Jaebum had gotten into a minor car accident, spraining his ankle and bruising his hip. He had left without entering, however, reading students' blogs about how Jaebum escaped relatively unharmed and was recovering just fine.

What would Jaebum say if he saw Youngjae, really? Youngjae believes it is not abandonment if you leave someone behind who is perfectly capable of surviving on his own. That common decency of telling the boy you spent your life with where you went, perhaps, can be overlooked if you have a good reason. Jaebum is popular; he will be alright on his own.

"Thank you," Youngjae responds cordially. "You look really young," Hayi mentions, humming inquisitively. "How old are you?" She catches herself, adding, "It's okay if you don't want to tell me."

"I'm twenty-one." Hayi nearly spurts out her drink, igniting a chuckle in the bartender. "Oh my god. You're only a few years older... Aren't you supposed to be in college now? Sorry. I mean..." She trails off, biting her lip at the assumedly offensive remark.

"I dropped out." Hearing that, Hayi probes silently for a reason, eyes veering upwards.

"Wanted to do what I liked," Youngjae fills in, cheekily showcasing the bar with a swoop of his arms. The words roll off his tongue uncomfortably, like taboo or the disgraceful.

"That's cool. Really cool," Hayi exhales. "That you get to choose who you want to be." She fidgets in her seat, tugging lightly at her collar. "I wish I could do that. How'd you get to that point? Like, making the decision."

"I just slowly started to realise I loved bartending more than anything else. I wanted to do something I genuinely enjoyed for a living," Youngjae elaborates, ending of with a nervous chuckle.

"Wow. I always thought the whole 'money can't buy you happiness' saying was really true," Hayi comments, marvelled. "There's this busker by Cheongdam-dong; his name's Kim Jongdae. He's always there whenever I go to CGV. Doesn't seem to have a job. He doesn't get a lot of money from singing, either; saw his earnings in his guitar case."

"But he's always there, every single day. I asked him why he didn't want to go take up a full-time job since I was pretty sure he'd earn more. He said he liked singing. The answer was so simple I kind of felt stupid for asking him."

Hayi swings her glass, sniffling as she reaches for her handbag. "But really," she mutters, pulling out her coat and slipping it on, "I don't mean to be a party pooper and all, but how's he going to last? I mean, yeah, I guess he could if an agency picks him up, but if that never happens, what about the future like when it's winter? Seriously, how's he gonna support himself then?"

Youngjae nods mutely in agreement. Hayi runs a hand messily through her hair, wheezing, "Sorry. I'm being mean. It's just... a sensitive topic for me."

"You made a good point," Youngjae convinces. Hayi rests her palm against her cheekbone, wryly smiling. "Wish my brother realised that," she snorts. "Then again, maybe it's me who doesn't understand. I always wondered if it was the other way round. Maybe it's always been me. Maybe I'm just another one of those people he hated."

"Your brother?" Youngjae asks softly. Hayi puffs, "Yeah. Ugh, I shouldn't have brought him up. He always makes me so depressed."

"Sibling trouble, huh?" Youngjae proffers a small smile. Hayi wistfully murmurs, "I wish it was. I'd rather have him back as the annoying big brother who always teased me, rather than..."

She trails off, folding her lips. "Sorry. Do you have a brother?"

"Yeah, three. Too many," Youngjae jokes, Hayi casting him an entertained smile. "I wasn't really that close to them. Were you close to yours?"

"For a period of time, yeah. Then we grew apart," Hayi bitterly muses. "I wish we could have been closer."

"You can always start now," Youngjae encourages, to which Hayi expels a jaded, sapped breath.

"I can't," she quietly divulges. "He passed away."

Youngjae winces and immediately apologises. Hayi waves him away with an assuring smile, gazing off into the distance as billows of memories engulf her. She sobers up from her stupor and abashedly mumbles, "Sorry. I just haven't talked about him for a long time. Never got the chance to."

Youngjae softly says, "If it'll make you feel better, I'm here to listen."

Hayi perks up with a grateful, touched smile, returning, "Thank you, but it's okay. It's just... I really haven't talked about him for a long time. My parents completely pretend he never existed. My friends and relatives do talk about him, but they do it behind my back." Her clenching fingers and indistinct locking of her jaw give away the indignation brewing within her..

"Sometimes, it's good to let it out," Youngjae hums, allaying the tension latching her teeth together. Hayi seems to mull over the prospect, parting her lips to decline but faltering. "It's okay. I..."

Hayi deliberate a while more and scowls, prodding at the stem of her drink. "It's the alcohol, isn't it? It makes me want to just vomit out everything." She runs a hand carelessly through her hair, slumping into her chair. "Feels like those TV shows where the main character reveals her tragic, oh-so-dramatic backstory." She gestures mockingly, rolling her eyes. "No one would bother to sit down and listen in real life."

"I'm all ears, miss," Youngjae offers with a tender smile. Hayi stares back as the haze gradually whelms her irises. She lets out a sigh of defeat and plays with her drink, pupils fixated on the bar.

"...I always remembered my brother to be a really great guy," Hayi broods, tone dripping off nostalgia. "He was good at everything, and I mean  _everything_. Always number one."

"Violin, piano, fencing, swimming, you name it, he aced it," Hayi reminisces. "Getting second was considered a disgrace when it came to him."

She toys with her hair, flush riding up to her forehead. "I wanted to be just like him. It looked so effortless, I guess. I wished I could do it as easily as him."

"It was all fine till he reached high school. In his third year, Joon started talking to himself. I thought he was just doing it for fun so I didn't bother about it. By that time, we'd already stopped talking since he was so busy, so it wasn't my place to ask, anyway. It wasn't until my parents brought him to a psychiatrist that I realised he wasn't himself anymore."

"It's scary what stress can do to a person," Hayi laments softly. "He used to be so eloquent, then suddenly, he kept talking gibberish. He developed an obsession with crushing ants and he spent most of his day playing with grasshoppers in the garden."

"My parents tried to talk him through graduating high school. But whenever he went to school, all he did was kill more ants. It got worse and worse. He disrupted class by looking for them, screaming whenever he found one. My parents didn't want him to drop out so he had to continue studying."

Hayi chuffs out a long breath, silently deciding on her next words. "He always went to this train station in Gwangju. Nokdong, I remember. There was a big field on the other side of the tracks. Very pretty, all green, almost like it'd never wilt in autumn. Joon sat there for hours, watching the trains pass every few minutes. When I couldn't find him around the house, I'd go down there. Sit with him. Talk to him."

Hayi sucks in her lips, listlessly leaning her head into her upright arms. "I asked him why he didn't want to board the train. Why he kept missing the train. He always replied that if he got on, he would be trapped and would never be able to touch the grass. And then, he'd ask me,  _how long more? How long more can I wait and see the grass till I have to board the last train home?_ "

"I once asked him what he wanted to become," Hayi breathes lowly. "He said, a grasshopper. Up till now, I still don't get what he meant."

Quietness douses the duo by the bar, flesh-snapping chortles in the background playing as accompaniment. Hayi pats her welled up eyes and churns out a watery smile. "The day before his college entrance exams, Joon just snapped and ran onto the tracks. Yelled that he wanted to get to the grass. He got hit by an oncoming train and died instantly."

"I'm sorry," Youngjae whispers, gently handing Hayi a napkin. Hayi hums dismissively, basking in the short silence and recovering her composure. She emits a cross between a croak and a contrived chuckle. "It's just," she breathes in a light, airy tone, "I wish I did something, you know? I wish I understood so he didn't have to feel so alone."

Hayi swallows down a sob, gratefully taking another tissue from Youngjae. She grins, lips trembling under the fabricated auburn lights. "It's sad, now that I think about it. You spend, what, a quarter of your life stuck in school learning how to live. How to survive in this world. It's like, once you were born, everything was decided for you. Must've been how Joon felt." Tears streak sequentially down her cheeks, collecting into raindrops down blasted windscreens.

"If only I'd done something for him," Hayi rasps, "maybe, just maybe... he'd still be alive." The remorse writhing through her every word incites a pained nip in Youngjae's ribcage. "I can't forgive myself. Every time I'm happy, I just think about how unfair it is to Joon."

"It's not your fault, miss," Youngjae quietly exhales, lowering his voice to a comforting pitch. "Don't blame yourself. Nobody knew it would happen."

Hayi's fingers shiver against the cold bar, foaming up a crooked smile. "Do you think, maybe, he's in a better place now?"

"I'm sure of it," Youngjae persuades, the tension in Hayi's clamped hands dissipating.

"I don't want him to suffer like he did here," Hayi hums, dabbing at her puffy eyes. "I hope he reincarnates into a grasshopper," she muses thoughtfully.

"He'll find his happiness," Youngjae consoles. "Leave it up to him. You should let go and find your own happiness." Hayi raises her head, shyly chuckling to herself. She deliberates on her words, nibbling on her lower lip.

"Thank you," she bleats with a chuckle, cautiously wiping away her tears without thrashing her make-up. "It's been years but I really needed someone to tell me that."

"Ha, enough about me," Hayi insists. "Tell me about yourself." Her lips coil along with Youngjae's hesitance, the suppressed bout of grief and inability to turn back time drenching the air. Hayi exhales one last shaky breath and simmers into sobriety, allowing the hours to melt the bereavement woven into her irises.

  
 

\--

  
 

"Do you know who's the hot chick you just talked to?" Himchan instantly winds around the counter once they close, peering in awe at Youngjae. The somber mood lingers in the air despite Hayi having flittered out with a tipsy giggle, promising to come by if she manages not to get caught by her parents.

"She said her name was Hayi," Youngjae returns, washing up the glasses Jongup brings over.

" _Yi_ Hayi," Himchan clarifies in awe, "She's of royal descent, from the Jeonju Yi clan—the ruling family of Joseon."

"Whoa." Youngjae blinks.

Himchan promptly gapes at him. "Why aren't you flipping out? This is so cool!"

Before Youngjae can respond, Daehyun strides over, arms folded. Youngjae catches the subtle displeasure on his face, not having any time to ask as Daehyun leans over, possessively locking lips with Youngjae.

"You look upset," Youngjae breathes as he fails to escape Daehyun's ravenous hold. Himchan sniggers, "More than upset. Pretty sure a member of the royal family was flirting with you."

"She's engaged," Youngjae explains, the disgruntled expression on Daehyun's face not subsiding in the slightest. Himchan does not acknowledge Youngjae's assertion, continuing, "Not only that, a package came for you."

He scurries to the back room, Daehyun seizing the chance to nibble on Youngjae's neck. Youngjae lets out a feeble breath, reminding, "Daehyun, the kids." He warily glances over to Junhong and Jongup obliviously wiping the tables.

"We don't have any kids," Daehyun whispers teasingly, moving down to Youngjae's collarbone as Jieun feigns belching in the corner. "But if you want, we can always adopt."

"Daehyun," Youngjae titters, lifting Daehyun's head off from his skin and planting a kiss on his nose. Daehyun dissolves into a jubilant smile just as Himchan boisterously bursts out of the room with a loud "ta-dah!".

Surprised, Youngjae takes the exquisitely decorated box from Himchan, weight abruptly sinking into his arms.  _1967 Chateau Margaux_. He removes the bottle from the box, wonderment drawn into his pupils. "For me?" Youngjae uncertainly questions, disbelief flooding his face when Himchan nods. Youngjae slips out the attached minimalist card, reading the few words scrawled onto it.

 _In vino veritas, in aqua sanitas._ In wine there is truth; in water there is health.  _Compliments to the bartender._

The signature below nearly masks the small name left below in block capitals.  _Kim Sunggyu._

"This red wine is expensive," Himchan whistles. A passing Hyosung rolls her eyes and calls out, "Obviously. Château Margaux, my friend. And hey," she wiggles her eyebrows at Youngjae, "you should totally ask for more. Exploit your sugar daddy to the fullest, honey."

Daehyun growls and Hyosung backs away with a cackle. "Chill out, Daehyun. Can't help it that Youngjae's so drop dead gorgeous and can't turn off the charm." She shrugs and hurriedly scampers away, Daehyun's frown deepening into pure vexation.

"Wasn't this the guy who got splashed in the face?" Hana questions as she hops over. "Thought you said he was pissed at you."

Youngjae nods stiffly, admiring the wine lying peacefully in his grasp. Daehyun clears his throat and grumpily stating, "I can get you something better."

"Oh, but  _did_  you?" Hana cooes sadistically, Daehyun's aura abruptly transforming into a terrorising one. Youngjae squeezes Daehyun's hand, attempting to alleviate the sheer peevishness surrounding Daehyun. "Let's drink it together," he placates, Daehyun grunting reluctantly.

As the other staff leave, Daehyun and Youngjae settle by the bar, Youngjae decanting the red wine. They toast and Daehyun smoothly downs his drink, rotating towards Youngjae and resting an arm on the counter. Youngjae is still lost in thought, the fresh memories of Hayi's sorrow and disjointed recollections of Sunggyu's agony sitting on his mind.

Youngjae's head is gently turned to face Daehyun, the manager brushing his lips over Youngjae's. "A lot on your mind, hm?"

Youngjae nods in response. Daehyun sighs, "This is one of the toughest parts of being a bartender. People just love to unload their hell onto the poor person stuck behind the bar. They should honestly stop equating buying a drink to getting a free counselling session."

Youngjae lets out a peal of laughter, Daehyun evidently pleased. Daehyun's hand roams down to Youngjae's thigh, stroking skin through tight jeans. "I should really put a sign here, telling people not to disturb you."

"Are you upset that they're troubling me or that they're talking to me?" Youngjae teasingly asks, Daehyun leaning over and humming into Youngjae's neck.

"Both? I don't like it when you're bothered, and I don't like it when you're being bothered."

"You," Youngjae chuckles and guides Daehyun's lips to meet his. Their tongues swirl against crimson, staining their lips like fresh blood. Youngjae attempts to part but Daehyun obstinately presses them together, Youngjae gasping for breath as Daehyun ravages his lips.

"Daehyun," Youngjae heaves, escaping Daehyun's vice-like grip. He pants heavily as Daehyun's dark eyes take in Youngjae's flushed form. He continues rubbing Youngjae's leg and sips nonchalantly at his wine.

"Let's go on a vacation," Daehyun suggests breezily. "Where do you want to go?" He purrs, enjoying Youngjae's warmth through fabric. "I'll book the tickets. Singapore Airlines Suites."

Youngjae's jaw slackens. He had read an article on it before that quoted at least eighteen million won for that. "That's  _really_  expensive, Daehyun. I've only left the country once in my life through economy class and I'm suddenly getting more than first class treatment," Youngjae chuckles lightly in awe.

"You deserve more than that," Daehyun answers easily. "Hm, where did you go to?"

"Um, Australia, I think. It was a school trip." Youngjae remembers Jaebum and his friends tripping over the long grass, the memory lighthearted and sweet. Even then, they had been crowned inseparable, their jarring personalities somehow intertwining into a perfect match. They understood one another best and they have always shared the same goals since young.

"I'm imagining you as a child now, and the sight is very cute," Daehyun compliments. Youngjae chuckles, envisioning Daehyun himself as a young boy, devoid of the stretched wrinkles and the entrenched dark circles. The youth paints his face blindingly, disarray of sunshine crushing alcoholism into an asymptote.

"Come on. Is there any place you want to go to?" Daehyun coaxes. "Anywhere you want. Just name it."

Youngjae ponders, shaking his head slowly. "I've never thought about going overseas," he confesses. "Only when I got that scholarship to the UK."

"Ah, I read about it in your résumé. You're so beautiful  _and_ smart," Daehyun flatters. "Why didn't you accept it? Not that I'm complaining, of course, since I wouldn't have been able to meet you."

"It... felt like a really big jump," Youngjae admits. If he had taken up the scholarship, he would have been contracted to that aerospace research agency for the next half a decade. He hadn't decided then if he was ready to commit everything to a life of electrical engineering.

"You choose where to go," Youngjae persuades, changing the topic. Daehyun hums to himself.

"Well... How about we head to Singapore?" He suggests, dousing his lips with more wine. "It's a beautiful city. Abundance of greenery."

"Sounds great. When?" Youngjae asks, leaning over to kiss Daehyun on the cheek. "And thank you," he whispers softly, melting Daehyun into an entranced smile. Youngjae has half a mind to ask if Daehyun should really be splurging so much, especially with his shady source of income, but he decidedly shuts his mouth.

"Next Sunday?" Daehyun states, Youngjae's eyes enlarging in shock.

"Daehyun, you're not seriously planning on suddenly ditching Cosmopolitan, are you?" Hearing Youngjae's incredulous question, Daehyun broadly grins, Youngjae prodding him in the shoulder with an amused scoff. "You can't skip out on work."

Daehyun whines, "But I'm overworked. I need a break."

"Then go yourself. I'm not going," Youngjae replies without hesitance, Daehyun jutting out his lower lip. Youngjae emits a snicker and absentmindedly runs his hands over the smooth gradient wrapping the bar counter. Daehyun's confession still brims in his mind, divulgence of blackmail and money clawed from the filthy rich's pockets. It is hard to imagine someone with so much class can be, essentially, a fraud. Youngjae chides himself for pairing such a label with Daehyun, dispersing the harrowing thoughts in his head.

"I can't," Daehyun fusses, "you're my only remedy to my fatigue. Yoo Youngjae is my only cure. I have to bring you along with me." Youngjae dismisses Daehyun's coaxing, downing more wine. The elegant, luscious palate draws colours across Youngjae's tongue.

"Okay, how about we make it next month? It'll help you take your mind off things. I realised you've been frowning lately," Daehyun whispers against Youngjae's earlobe. The recent perturbation is really because of Jaebum, but Youngjae simply smiles and brushes it off.

"I'm fine, Daehyun. You should go on your own and enjoy yourself."

"You're really going to leave me alone?" Daehyun mopes, massaging Youngjae's thigh and moving up to his hipbone.

"I can't just take time off, Daehyun," Youngjae answers, Daehyun's skilled fingers eliciting a shiver in the bartender. "Besides, I don't think Himchan would appreciate being the fill-in bartender."

"Should I be concerned?" Daehyun questions with a hum. Youngjae guffaws, nudging him in the arm. "You should care more for your employees' welfare, as a manager."

"I do." Daehyun removes his hand from Youngjae's thigh, winding it around his waist instead. "That's why I'm asking you to come with me."

Youngjae takes in Daehyun's cheeky, unapologetic grin, shaking his head in amusement. "You're so corny. Do you do this to all your past flings?"

"Certainly not. You're special." Daehyun buries his nose into Youngjae's cheek, whispering, "I'm serious about you. You're aware of that, right?" Daehyun's hormonal, excessive need to touch boils once again, showering butterfly kisses down Youngjae's jawline. Youngjae reaches out for the counter, holding himself sturdy as Daehyun fervently licks down his chin.

"Yeah," Youngjae wheezes as he prods Daehyun away. Flushed, Youngjae's gaze turns and his hands once again instinctively roam the counter, texture smooth without a trace of defects. Daehyun comments, tone dripping with nostalgia, "You know... the first day you worked here, you did the same thing."

"Did what?" Youngjae enquires, stare roaming over. Daehyun gestures to the bar. "You were scrutinising the counter. Is it not to your liking?"

Youngjae quickly shakes his head. "No, it's just very different from the one where I used to work at."

"It's a lot prettier without all the deformities, hm?" Daehyun slurps at his wine, languidly looking over. Youngjae peruses the glossy, unwrinkled surface, echoing, "Yeah. But... I think the cracks are what gives the bar its character. Don't you think so?"

Daehyun arches his brows in intrigue, probing with his eyes. "Like bruises," Youngjae sheepishly elaborates. "All the nail marks, dents, cuts from bottle caps... Says a lot about the bar and who goes there."

"Always so intuitive," Daehyun hums with a grin. "So, the imprints give the bar its character?"

Youngjae nods slowly, instinctively tapping his nail against the shatterproof counter. "A memoir, I guess," the bartender says. The impeccability of the texture is quite eerie, like a thorough cover-up of the blood spilled underneath the alcohol, no traces left behind as a distant call for help.

Daehyun rises, hauling Youngjae off the stool as the man stumbles. He pins Youngjae against the countertop, the cool granite digging into Youngjae's shirt. He purrs into Youngjae's ear, "Well then... I know what I'd want engraved into it." Daehyun suckles on Youngjae's collarbone, hands roaming up Youngjae's thigh to his groin. Youngjae grasps Daehyun's shirt and arches back against the bar, while Daehyun massages him through his jeans.

"Daehyun, let's do this somewhere else," Youngjae wheezes out, halfheartedly pushing Daehyun away. Daehyun persists in his ministrations, skilled hand rubbing hard and fast. "Why not here?" Daehyun teases, unzipping Youngjae's pants and reaching into his briefs. Youngjae chokes out a moan, fingers clenching on Daehyun's blazer.

"We work here," Youngjae pointedly rasps, Daehyun stroking his member. Daehyun chuckles darkly, thumb roughly prodding into Youngjae's leaking tip. The wrongfulness, still present despite it being closing hours, escalates every of Daehyun's touch, burning desire into Youngjae's skin as he holds Daehyun close.

"Hygiene," Youngjae blurts, groaning when Daehyun rubs Youngjae's pre-cum over his shaft. Daehyun squeezes Youngjae's behind, undoing the bartender's button-down shirt and running his rough hands all over.

"There's no one here but us," Daehyun persuades, smirking against Youngjae's neck when the man lets out a whimper. He pauses to look Youngjae in the eyes, smiling lazily into misty irises and waiting tauntingly for permission. The dilemma stands clear, and as Youngjae indulges in Daehyun's enticing hum, he decidedly pulls Daehyun towards him and locks their lips.

"Just this once," Youngjae relents as they pull apart, bridge of saliva thinly connecting their mouths. The combustion triggered in Daehyun is instantaneous, the hunger manifesting in full as he aggressively ravishes Youngjae's neck. Youngjae tilts his head back, legs lifted off the ground as Daehyun shifts him up against the bar. They shed each other's clothes as the cold wind bristles Youngjae's flesh.

"Absolutely beautiful." The whisper spurs a shudder in Youngjae, his own palms wandering over Daehyun's chiseled contours. He reaches down and takes Daehyun's length, jerking it teasingly as the other man cocks his head back in pleasure. Daehyun thrusts into Youngjae's fists with a growing delirium, finally resisting the temptation and guiding Youngjae's hand away.

Daehyun sweeps aside the wine, shifting Youngjae to lie on the counter. Tugging Youngjae's underwear down, he reaches out for his unfinished glass of wine and dips a finger in. He rubs his wet thumb over Youngjae's nub and Youngjae jolts at the cold sensation.

"Daehyun," Youngjae gasps, the cry elicited evoking satisfaction in Daehyun. "Are you really going to waste that on me?"

Daehyun pinches Youngjae's nipple, sucking on the other neglected nub. "Waste?" He questions, hoisting the glass and drizzling a precise crimson flow over Youngjae's bare body. He simultaneously dives his tongue into Youngjae's mouth, provoking the same queer taste of addiction.

"Nothing is wasted on you, gorgeous." Daehyun nibbles down Youngjae's jawline, rubbing the cool liquid down Youngjae's chest. It paints Youngjae in a rather eerie way, blood red over his skin.

Youngjae grips Daehyun's neck tighter, bleating out at the chilling sensation. "If anything, this wine isn't worthy of you," Daehyun chuckles.

Daehyun's drenched hand gropes Youngjae's member, wetness bringing the universe down into Youngjae's head. Daehyun replaces his hand with his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and deep throating the bartender.

The jazz imperviously plays overhead, saxophone chords twining Youngjae's brimming pleasure to an unreachable high. Coarse skin meets its smooth, cream counterpart, Daehyun showering butterfly kisses over Youngjae's thighs. He pulls the man up, ravaging his lips before flipping him around. Youngjae's body hangs over the counter, toes touching the ground and his succulent cheeks in full view to Daehyun's liking.

"Have I ever told you how good you taste?" Daehyun muffles his lips against Youngjae's butt cheek, inserting a finger into the man. The only thing Youngjae manages out is a soft cry, grasping at the counter as Daehyun massages his prostate. Sprawled across the cold counter, the tepid glow of the lamps soothes the head-numbing pleasure. Daehyun's touch is inevitably a one-way ticket to utopia, his fingers having memorised every single of Youngjae's sensitive areas.

Daehyun swipes his tongue over Youngjae's rim, the familiar sound of rattling tools echoing along with the clinks of a glass. Something wet and hard prods at Youngjae's hole and Daehyun slowly slides it in. Youngjae whimpers at the intrusion, exhaling, "Daehyun, is that... the muddler?"

Daehyun hums mischievously and Youngjae's eyes widen in embarrassment. "Daehyun, that's unsanitary," Youngjae croaks in disbelief, the wooden rod sensually running past his sweet spot. The thought of familiarising himself with the tool in such a new, perverted way has Youngjae shamefully burying his head into his arms, involuntarily moaning at the bliss.

"I wouldn't complain if you used it to make my drinks after we're done with this," Daehyun utters cheekily against Youngjae's lower back, thrusting the rod in. Hearing the flustered bartender's splutters, Daehyun sniggers and relents. "Alright. I'll get you a new one... and keep this for myself. It'll fit right in with the bar at home."

"Daehyun..." Youngjae chides, biting his lip as Daehyun removes the foreign object. Daehyun eyes the dripping muddler with warped captivation before placing it aside. He presses himself against Youngjae, grinding his sore member between Youngjae's cheeks. With a final knead, Daehyun thrusts in, Youngjae clawing at the counter from Daehyun's large size.

Daehyun gradually picks up pace, gripping Youngjae's hips as he steadily pounds in. Youngjae bites back his moans, bashfully hiding his face as he giddily takes in his work environment. Daehyun's grunts are airy against the static atmosphere, his shaft meeting Youngjae's sweet spot with every shove.

Daehyun pulls out abruptly, pulling Youngjae off the counter and latching their lips. He hauls Youngjae up, holding up Youngjae's legs as he reenters fervidly. Youngjae grapples onto Daehyun desperately, whimpering into Daehyun's neck as the ecstasy triples with every thrust.

Finally, Youngjae comes with a high-pitched cry, the end breaking off into a gasp as white spurts against his stomach. He rides out his orgasm as Daehyun continues to roll his hips, finally releasing into Youngjae with a guttural groan. Daehyun gently weaves his fingers through Youngjae's hair, yanking himself out and sealing their lips. The bartender melts into Daehyun's grasp, parting and nuzzling their noses.

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me," Daehyun whispers, breath inciting a warm yet ghostly feel under Youngjae's skin. Youngjae chastely kisses Daehyun's forehead, exhaling in a drawn-out, fatigued breath.

"You too."


	6. Chapter 6

That fateful night in the car, Daehyun had spoken of an elaborate magic show. The powder provided the alchemy for the magician to disembody the princess inside the chest, slicing her torso off without an inch of pain in her shut eyes. As the witchcraft wore off and the princess tumbled out in one piece, she begged for the sorcerer to lock her back in, and remove the part of her which encapsulated her heart. With her hopes and dreams divorced from the atrociously unfiltered reality her brain perpetually saw—even with her eyes closed—she freely lived in the illusion of splendid fairy tales and happily ever afters.

Sunhwa believed she was one of those princesses in those famous storybooks. She endured suffering, like Cinderella did, trapped in poverty, starvation and tattered clothes with a terrible mother who told her never to dream, because the poor had no right to. She waited for her time of liberation and her crowning that would spark a life of bliss. As long as she waited, one day, she would be free and finally find the happiness she deserved.

Sunhwa waited, waited and waited. As the beatings got worse and her ribcage showed even more obviously, she realised her fantasy would never come true. It would simply break her if she acknowledged that her light, during the times she stole from the neighbour's dog bowl and licked crumpled gum wrappers, was never real. To have always believed it would get better and yet have that sole source of comfort be false... would there be any value to the years she wasted, hesitating by the razor's edge?

She knew there must have been another way. Sunhwa searched desperately, from seeking out hundreds of modelling agencies to outright selling her body, but none of them found her any higher than where she was. It only served to cement the bleeding fact that she would never, in her lifetime, be fit to play the virgin princess, so pure and noble.

And so, she found salvation in drugs. In brittle white, she constructed palaces of mortar, and encased herself in a fantasy so elaborate it seemed an entire universe on its own. There, she rode in magnificent carriages chaperoned by Pegasus and slept in lush beds fit only for royalty. She ruled a kingdom on her own, loyal subjects of well-versed colours and blinding words eternally at her beck and call. Starvation was unknown of and an abundance of grassy meadows flooded the castle's perimeter. Underneath her quilt laid multiple layers of mattresses and hidden beneath was a pea, or rather, a beer bottle cap, and Sunhwa would smile gleefully at the mark left on her skin.

However, this paracosm shattered every few hours. Sunhwa tried deliriously to stock on grams and grams of plaster to sustain the illusion, but construction costs far exceeded what she could earn. Deciding she had already ruined herself in this world, she became a prostitute. During the moments she was sober and her empire was latched up in her mind, she acted the part of an empress—with click-clacks of spurious silver stilettos (six inches closer to heaven) and glittering green gowns. It was precisely because she was so convincing, both to herself and the outside world, that Daehyun fell madly in love with her.

Daehyun tried to save her, but in the end, he fell into the doomsday pit and was condemned to a hell of addiction. Shuddering tremors, profuse sweating, palpitating hearts—their lips met constantly in their high. Daehyun saw what Sunhwa crafted, envisioning the long red carpet and their linked arms towards the grand door. And as he began to comprehend Sunhwa's shimmering smile in their fantasy, he wove that into his reason to join her. He was aware that he was only an accessory to her reverie, a mere extra money source—just barely managing to suffice as her royal spouse. In spite of that, Daehyun still allowed himself to fall deeper and deeper.

It was inevitable. Sunhwa often jumped dosages without any qualms and washed them down with alcohol. After overdosing on opium with a glass of absinthe, Sunhwa went into cardiac arrest. Alice never left Wonderland from that night forth.

And she left her heartbroken Prince Charming behind.

  
 

\--

  
 

Sunlight careens through placidity, deflecting off the phone screen and coaxing visibility away from stark numerals. Youngjae sits amidst the glow, thumb hovering over the call button. He nudges his finger forward, the contact  _Mother_ scrawled into the frame. The number is still familiar despite having not been dialled for the past year.

 _It's just one call,_ Youngjae convinces himself, hesitance holding him back from calling. The excuses come as fast as they go: the lack of attention means they have forgotten about him, so why bother calling? But that has always been a phase the Yoo children reach once they turn old enough. It represents a matrimony with freedom and independence, the teachings of his parents put to the test once they are let free. His sister Inna is married now, her first child conceived a few months ago. She had texted him asking if he would return home for Chuseok, in time for her delivery.

Emitting a wistful breath, Youngjae inches his thumb forward. What would his parents say if they knew he had dropped out? It is nothing to be ashamed of since this is what he had dreamt of doing, since the days he took overtime in spite of having classes four hours later.

"Youngjae."

Youngjae lifts his head, pulling away his hand and flashing a small smile. Daehyun pecks him on the forehead, settling beside him on the couch. "What are you doing?" He hums, hauling Youngjae into his grasp.

Youngjae puts his phone away and sinks into Daehyun's tight hold, shaking his head lightly. "Nothing. What are you doing?" He cheekily poses back.

"Thinking of you, as I always do," Daehyun sighs, nestling his nose into Youngjae's neck. "What would I do without you? When I'm away, I feel like I'm deprived." Youngjae chuckles softly, taking a strawberry from the bowl beside him and stuffing it into Daehyun's mouth. "You were just in the opposite room."

"Any distance between us is not welcomed," Daehyun teases through munches, enticingly massaging Youngjae's inner thigh. Youngjae lightly slaps his wrist, grabbing and nibbling on a strawberry. Daehyun quickly dives in, biting off half of it as their lips brush.

"I'm excited for our vacation," Daehyun cajoles. "I hired a private tour guide just for us. I hope you're as eager as I am."

"I am. I did some research and now, I can't wait for our trip," Youngjae chimes, guiding Daehyun's head down and linking their lips momentarily. He tries to pull away but Daehyun's thick lips chases after his, moulding them together once again. They part and Youngjae emanates a soft smile.

"Thank you, Daehyun. I'm not used to being spoilt like this, especially when I'm so undeserving." Daehyun lets out a whine of protest, correcting, "Nothing is too good for you."

"When is the designer coming?" Youngjae grasps Daehyun's hands gently and plays with his fingers. "Soon," Daehyun says, glancing to his Rolex watch. "I think you'll like her. Her name's Go Younha, very talented woman. Made the art piece and was adamant on bringing it here herself."

"Dream art, you said?" Youngjae hums. Daehyun nods, interlacing their fingers.

"You really like that theme, hm?" Youngjae chimes, scouring the house in captivation. Numerous artworks stand proudly against the white interior of Daehyun's house, the composition opulent. "This place feels like a museum."

"I need to make it pretty enough so it's befitting of its occupant's beauty," Daehyun teases. Youngjae veers back, smiling up at the other. "Is that you or me?"

"Me, of course," Daehyun responds, inciting a sweet chortle in Youngjae. The late morning tranquility curls pleasantly around the couple, them simmering in the peaceful silence.

"Any particular reason you like the concept so much?" Youngjae muses. The various pieces engraved into the walls tells evidently of an obsession with fantasy. Daehyun twines their fingers together tighter.

"Hm... The line between reality and illusion is fascinating, don't you think?" The words echo a conversation long lost with a man whose back broke under the heavy lights.  _In vino veritas._ In wine there is truth. Hopefully, Sunggyu has found a way to combat his heavy drinking and his eerie nightmares.

"Yeah," Youngjae answers. "Sometimes, it's so hard to tell between a truth and a lie." Daehyun nods against the nape of Youngjae's neck.

"It's interesting, huh? Some people spend their lives kept in the dark," he heaves. "I read that in the US, over half of Alzheimer's diagnoses aren't told to patients. It's an incurable disease, so they're deciding it's better not to know."

Youngjae chuffs out a long breath. "A white lie." It reminds him of his neighbour back at his old apartment. The woman in her fifties constantly had this misery warping her wrinkled cheeks and she often hopped over to her mother's place right next door. The story from the eighty years old mother was that her newborn daughter had been taken from her during the Korean war and they had been separated for decades. She had been waiting her entire life for her long lost daughter's return. She'd gone on to chortle heartily that she had recognised her daughter at first sight when she just moved in.

The story had warmed his heart greatly, but then he had crossed another neighbour who witnessed the exchange. He had promptly accused the daughter of being a vile fraud, condemning her to hell for her deception.

"Do you think the truth is important?" Daehyun questions casually.

Youngjae mulls over the question, nodding firmly. "Yeah."

"Mm, tell me why," Daehyun whispers, inhaling the scent of Youngjae's freshly washed hair.

Youngjae mumbles, "People need to know the truth abut what's actually happening. They deserve at least that. They'll feel humiliated if they find out."

"That is true," Daehyun replies. "What with all the con artists and scammers in the world."

Youngjae nods fervently. "These thieves need to be prosecuted fairly." He perks up and mentions, "Oh, I was reading this article the other day about something called the Innocence project."

Daehyun cranes his neck, listening intently. "They help prisoners prove their innocence through DNA testing," Youngjae explains. "There was this famous case about a man who was wrongfully convicted and imprisoned for over thirty years. He was released only a few years back."

Daehyun grimaces, shaking his head. "I've read about such cases. It's horrifying."

"The truth came out so late and he gave up so much of his life for it," Youngjae laments, submerging himself in Daehyun's embrace. "A bad man got away with murder while an innocent man paid for a crime he didn't commit. How can the state give back even a fraction of what he lost?"

"Yeah... Truth is necessary." Daehyun tenderly strokes Youngjae's arm, letting out a quiet sigh. "It seems so unattainable, though. Just a little twist and it loses its sanctity. Who knows how many have been falsely accused?"

"Scary, huh?" Youngjae exhales. "I just hope the real criminals are rightfully prosecuted."

The quietness resumes, Daehyun tracing patterns into Youngjae's skin. "What do you think of me, then?" He softly questions.

Youngjae blinks rapidly and apologetically peers up at Daehyun. He grasps Daehyun's face gently, breathing, "I didn't mean it that way, Daehyun. I'm sorry."

"You probably thought I was wealthy from my own efforts. I lied to you." The truth in Daehyun's statement is undeniable, catching Youngjae off-guard.

Youngjae shakes his head obstinately, whispering, "I still love you." The words naturally fall out of his mouth, taste odd off his lips.

"And I can't be more grateful for that than anything else," Daehyun murmurs. His arms wind tighter around Youngjae. "I have another confession to make," Daehyun divulges hesitantly. Youngjae places his hands over Daehyun's, readily listening.

"I told you what happened with Junhong and his father, right?" Youngjae nods in response. Junhong's father had physically abused Junhong, having been a violent alcoholic. His mother had ran away before Junhong turned seven to escape their poverty-ridden lives, and his father had spiralled into depression, thus his excessive drinking.

"Well, Junhong's father passed on a month ago."

Youngjae winces. Daehyun continues somberly, "Liver failure. His body was decomposing by the time the neighbours found him."

"Have you told Junhong yet?" Youngjae asks weakly.

Daehyun releases a rough sigh. He admits, "No, I haven't."

"You know how Junhong is," Daehyun says solemnly. "That boy fears his father, but he still cares for him. I had to go check up on his father every few months to assure him everything's fine."

Daehyun pauses, resting his head against Youngjae's shoulder. "Junhong's guilty, Youngjae. He's been feeling guilty for leaving his father alone ever since I took him in. I don't know how he'd cope if he knew his father died—he'll surely blame himself for it. He just signed up for part-time classes for his high school degree; I don't want the news to affect him."

Youngjae nods silently. What Daehyun has said is undoubtedly true. Junhong is far too kind and forgiving not to feel backbreaking remorse over his abusive father's death.

"I'm a bad person, aren't I? Keeping something so big from him. He asked me the other day about his father and I told him he was doing fine."

Youngjae squeezes Daehyun's wrist and consoles, "You did it to protect him. That's noble of you, Daehyun."

"Is it the right thing to do, though?" Daehyun muses gloomily. "I don't want him to be hurt. He's already been through so much."

Silence grapples with the pair and Youngjae responds softly, "You can't keep it from him forever."

Just this simple sentence has Daehyun slouching in surrender. "I can't, can I?" He relents with a defeated wheeze. "I have no right to hide something like this from him."

Youngjae massages the conflicted tension from Daehyun's arms, suggesting, "It's best to tell him early. The longer it takes to get to him, I think the more upset he would be."

"You're right." Daehyun kisses Youngjae chastely on his cheek and mumbles, "Thank you. I really needed someone to tell me that."

A familiar beeping noise resounds and Daehyun delicately unwinds his arms from Youngjae, shifting the man off his lap. Daehyun punches in the passcode and soon after, the doorbell rings. Daehyun swings it open, muffled talking arising before a pretty lady steps into the house. She is followed by three men, two gingerly hoisting in a large, veiled canvas while the other carries a wide raven bag.

Her eyes light up as she sees Youngjae, politely extending her hand. Youngjae takes it cordially with a wide smile.

"Hello, you must be Mr. Yoo," the woman greets jubilantly. "I'm Go Younha. It's an honour to meet the one who inspired Mr. Jung to purchase my artwork."

"O-oh... Please, call me Youngjae," Youngjae sheepishly replies, simultaneously glancing over to Daehyun in pleasant surprise. Daehyun merely grins back, striding off after the two workers. Youngjae follows behind, watching as Daehyun consults Younha as to where to place the masterpiece. Daehyun whips off the cloth as the helpers attach the canvas to the bedroom wall, Youngjae melting into pure enchantment at the painting. A breathtaking tincture of prussian blue flushes into a mist of white, smouldering into an ethereal tangerine to form the fabric of the sky. The glittering moon hanging amidst the sky is carved precisely with craters, the silhouette of a boy sitting on its edge. A girl stands at the other end of the portrait on a large expanse of lush meadow, looking up at the boy on the full moon. She weaves a long stretch of grass, much like a rope.

"It's wonderful," Youngjae praises in awe. Younha bows deeply and returns, "Thank you so much. I'm very flattered."

Daehyun folds his arms, leaning his weight back. "Younha, would you like to tell Youngjae the inspiration behind your art piece?"

"Ah, yes," Younha eagerly peals. "This piece is called Hey Diddle Diddle. It was inspired by my dream." She fondly reminisces, "I dreamt of a boy who flew all the way to the moon. When I saw him, I told him to come back to our home planet since he would be lonely being all by himself up there. He didn't want to and said he was happy there, and that even if he wanted to, he couldn't. I didn't want to leave him, so I stood on that field and talked to him every night once the moon came back. I always waited for sundown, wanting to accompany him."

"He asked me why I wanted him down on Earth when he pushed the moon up into the sky. He said he chased away the sun and rolled the moon up so I could sleep. I said something about not wanting him to fall asleep forever, since he was on the moon and all, and I tried to build a bridge out of grass to reach him. Every day, I'd pluck leaves from my meadow and thread them together into a rope."

Youngjae nods in intrigue, admiring the sparkles dispersed across sapphire. "What happened next?"

"I woke up," Younha bashfully giggles. "And ran straight for my art studio."

Youngjae laughs amiably, stepping closer to the artwork. The dried paint clumped along the sides gives a enticing naturalness to its whole. One of the helpers pops his head into the room and asks, "Younha, where do we place the lightboxes?"

"Are those for the sand art class?" Daehyun questions. Younha nods and Daehyun directs the worker to one of the spare rooms. The burly man sets up the lightboxes, Youngjae nudging Daehyun in curiosity.

"I thought you might be bored, so I asked Younha to hold some of her famous sand art lessons for us," Daehyun provides. Youngjae stares at him, lashes batting rapidly against his cheeks. He presses his lips together and glances away.

"You're always so thoughtful," Youngjae breathes, meeting Daehyun's eyes when the other delicately lifts his face up by the chin. Daehyun emits a blinding grin and teases, "You look like you really want to kiss me." He brushes Youngjae's hair out of his eyes. Youngjae puffs lightheartedly, shaking his head in denial though Daehyun is ultimately accurate.

"Not here, at the very least," Youngjae returns. He looks over to the workers setting up the tables and informs, "I'll go get some drinks." He leaves while Daehyun tails persistently, pushing Youngjae against the refrigerator once they reach the kitchen.

"We're alone now. You can kiss me now," Daehyun whispers, silly smile still worn. Youngjae keeps him at arm's length, taunting, "What if I don't want to anymore?"

Daehyun gripes with a pout, "Why not?"

Youngjae snivels his nose and feigns belching, "Your breath stinks." Surprised, Daehyun steps back with wide eyes.

"Really?" He huffs a little and sniffs hard, the scene so comically adorable Youngjae laughs and pulls him into a sweet kiss.

"I'm just kidding," Youngjae exhales, their tongues meshing between breaths. Youngjae pulls away and yelps heartily when Daehyun suckles on his chin, moving down to his exposed neck.

"Daehyun," Youngjae breathlessly chortles, pushing the stubborn man away. "You really want to do this when we have four guests over?"

"I'm sure they can let themselves out," Daehyun brushes off, hands roaming down Youngjae's sides.

Youngjae softly quibbles, "But I'm excited for the sand art lessons you arranged for me."

Daehyun finally relents, choosing to envelope Youngjae in a hug. They remain ensconced in one another's embrace for a long while, simply revelling in the other's warmth. Their surroundings bleed out into faded lines and the unfathomable, Youngjae's eyes welling up with tears. For the past few months, his life has been utterly luxurious, and he had done nothing to deserve such treatment from Daehyun.

"I'm not used to being loved like this," Youngjae whispers. "Thank you. I don't know what you see in me."

Daehyun holds him tighter, smothering his lips against Youngjae's shoulder. "The whole world. With you, it feels like everything is within reach." Youngjae leans back, grasping Daehyun's face intimately and stroking down his jawline. They press their lips together, Daehyun's tongue thoroughly exploring Youngjae's cavern. A flash of blonde hair catches the couple's attention, Younha hastily darting back into the room.

"We scared off our teacher," Daehyun chuckles deeply and lets go of Youngjae. He stops for a moment, smiling to himself in thought. "That sounded like we're two naughty high school kids who got caught making out."

Youngjae looks at him in incredulous amusement as Daehyun shrugs remorselessly. "It's a nice scenario," he justifies.

"You are into a lot of things," Youngjae puffs, stacking the glasses on the tray. "You would know," Daehyun purrs and squeezes Youngjae's behind, igniting a stark blush on Youngjae's face. "And what I thought was nice was the idea of us meeting when we were younger. It's funny to think about it." Daehyun leans closer. "Would you like me if I was all pimply and skinny?"

"Nope." Youngjae swats Daehyun away and hurries back to the room, muffling a chuckle at Daehyun's indignant whine.

The envisioning is saccharine. Would they have fallen in love? If Daehyun had enrolled in Youngjae's school, they could have been the best of friends, together with Jaebum. It's comforting to imagine them eating in the school field during lunch, Jaebum complaining as usual about homework.

"Ah, thank you," Younha blurts, clearly awkward about what she had witnessed. The other three workers nod, declaring they will be back in a few hours after Younha is done and leaving swiftly. The couple sit by the desks, sand flooding the glowing surfaces. The room is dimly lit by several scented candles and the lightboxes, Younha standing at the front.

"Shall I begin?" Younha asks as she pulls down the projector screen. "I'll start with a [demonstration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zphbnum0_BY)."

She hauls her hand smoothly through the sand, clean patches illuminated with a silky radiance. Youngjae marvels at the portraits she effortlessly carves, grains obediently trailing her fingertips. The landscape of a farmhouse is whooshed away into a mermaid by the horizon, and consequently, swans in a lake and an intricately detailed pair of siblings embracing. Her grandiose movements resemble that of the otherworldly.

Daehyun chooses to craft out a fairy while Youngjae decides on a couple walking through the park. Sweeps of fingers bury bits of sand into Youngjae's fingernails as Younha guides the both of them, fingers towing dull gold along. As Youngjae adds the finishing touch, Daehyun looms behind him.

"Looks good," Daehyun compliments, resting his chin on Youngjae's broad shoulder. Youngjae looks over to Daehyun's workmanship, the wavy anatomy of a woman with wings gleaming.

"Yours looks amazing." Daehyun hums at the praise, pleased. Just then, Youngjae cheekily dabs some sand on Daehyun's nose and darts away. He breaks out into a blaring laugh as Daehyun scrunches up his nose, wiping at his face. Daehyun scoffs in disbelief and corners the other with raised brows.

"How childish..." Daehyun easily presses himself against Youngjae without using his limbs, Youngjae squeaking. He nimbly steals a kiss from Youngjae and satisfactorily pats the man's face with his sandy hands. They dissolve into chuckles, captivated gaze unwilling to detach. The golden, scarce luminance of the room composes a romantic atmosphere, abruptly breaking when Daehyun's phone rings.

Apologetically, Daehyun pulls away and excuses himself to answer it. Youngjae roams back to his sandbox, experimentally adding some flowers on the path he had carved.

"It feels nice, doesn't it?" Younha shares, slipping over.

"It does. I had an amazing time," Youngjae hums. "Seems like you love sand art a lot."

Younha sighs fondly. "Yeah. Don't you think when you're doing it, it feels like you're the Sandman?" She chirps, guiding Youngjae to draw rose bushes down the walkway in his art piece. "Like you're making dreams."

Youngjae nods in thought, beaming back. "Mr. Jung told me the theme of his collection," Younha chirps. "It's a beautiful theme he picked. I couldn't think of a better concept to design my house after, to be honest."

"Daehyun says you're very fond of dream art," Youngjae says.

"Mm. Dreams are wonderful things," Younha gushes. "They take you to a whole new world."

"Heard they tell you a lot about yourself too," Youngjae muses. "About your subconsciousness."

"Yes! So you're the type who believes in dream interpretation?"

Youngjae lightly smiles. "Sort of. Never tried it, though."

"Oh, I'm really into dream interpretation. I've got a lot of books on it. I have a dream journal and I record every single dream I have each night," Younha proudly shares.

Youngjae returns with intrigue, "Wow. You must be an expert, huh?"

Younha affably laughs, "I don't want to brag, but I'd say I'm somewhere there. How about a live demonstration?" She gestures for Youngjae to sit. "Can you remember your last dream?"

The memories of his last dream are foggy. What he can remember is only fragments of a vaguely recurring nightmare, instilling trepidation as he sprints. The familiar shadow at the end of his frantic running often embraces him, but then overwhelms him with darkness. "Um, well... Lately, I've been dreaming of being chased," he quietly returns. "I don't know what I'm running from, though."

"Ah, chase dreams," Younha bemuses. "It usually symbolises avoidance. Of course, it can mean anything, really. Maybe that you're watching too many horror movies."

Youngjae laughs. "Haven't been. Horror isn't my kind of thing."

"Hm, have you ever tried turning behind to see what's chasing you?" Younha continues. "You'd be surprised to see what you find. I used to have a lot of chase dreams, and I always thought it was car wanting to run me over. One time, I finally decided to turn around. I saw my son in a pram."

"Did you figure out what it meant?" Youngjae asks. Younha wryly smiles, pausing for a moment.

"Yeah," she breathes. "I guess I'd been... avoiding my son's death. I had a miscarriage due to a car accident. Afterwards, I started having these dreams."

Youngjae holds in a breath. "I'm sorry," he lowers his voice, "I shouldn't have pried."

"It's alright," Younha assures, "I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?" Youngjae hastily shakes his head. A pensive air permeates the soft aurora, the two sitting in quietness.

"I didn't know how to cope so I ran away from it. Pretended he was still alive in my belly," Younha muses ruefully. "Don't worry. I'm fine now," she supplies upon seeing Youngjae's look of woe. "At least I got to carry him once, even if it's unreal."

"I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you," Youngjae breathes. "You're strong."

Younha smiles at this. "Thank you." She hums, still deep in thought. "You know, avoidance can come in many forms. Sometimes, you think you're coping well and you've got everything under control, but you don't even know yourself—don't know if you need a break, don't know if you're at your breaking point."

Her eyes dim for a moment before quickly changing the topic to relax the tense air. "You and Mr. Jung are so adorable together. How long have you two been dating?"

Youngjae flushes, murmuring, "Less than a year, actually."

"You two already look so in love," Younha teases. "Do you mind me asking how you guys met?"

"He's... my boss," Youngjae embarrassedly mumbles.

"That's so cute," Younha gasps, wiggling her brows. "You must mean a lot to Mr. Jung. I saw he went around the exhibition for nearly eight hours." She leans back with a fond smile. "He stopped at my booth for probably the tenth time, and that was when I finally asked him if there was any particular art style he was searching for. He said he wanted something that felt like you. 'For my angel', quote."

"Oh god," Youngjae laughs, blush tinting his cheeks. "He's so cheesy."

"But sweet, hm?" Younha nudges Youngjae playfully. "He said the artworks around looked too flashy, too loud. I brought out Hey Diddle Diddle to show him. You can't imagine how happy I was when he said he finally found what he was looking for."

"I definitely don't match up to your painting's standard," Youngjae dismisses lightly. "Far from it. Your painting is beautiful."

"And you are too, especially to Mr. Jung," Younha mischievously rebounds. Daehyun emerges at this instant, briefly glancing between the two and coiling an arm around Youngjae. Younha looks to her phone and stands, announcing, "I'm sorry; I should be leaving now. I don't want to disturb you two."

"You're welcomed to stay," Daehyun offers good-naturedly as Younha begins to pack up.

"It's alright. I don't want to overstay my welcome in such a grand house," Younha returns. "May I?" She asks, standing by Daehyun and Youngjae's works. They nod and she agilely sweeps her hands across, destroying their temporary creations with an almost disquieting ease.

After bidding Younha goodbye, Daehyun loops Youngjae into his hold by the doorway. "I have to go," he sighs. "I need to pay my respects to... you know."

"Do you need me to go with you?" Youngjae asks softly, comfortingly entwining their hands. Daehyun shakes his head, cupping Youngjae's cheek. "You said you wanted to go back to your apartment, right? I'll drive you there."

"It's not on the way, Daehyun. I can take the bus." Before Daehyun can protest, Youngjae slips out of his grasp, hurrying into the room. He gathers his things, an umbrella and the white lilies he had bought yesterday, returning and handing them over. Daehyun blinks, examining the bouquet.

"Sorry. I don't want to intrude on your private time, but... I got flowers for Sunhwa," Youngjae mumbles, zipping up his bag. "And the weather forecast said it would rain. Take care of yourself, okay? Don't catch a cold."

"I will." Daehyun's lips curl and he winds Youngjae into a hug. "And I'll pass the flowers on. Thank you. You're so caring."

Youngjae pecks Daehyun on the nose, whispering, "Stay safe. Call me if you need me." Youngjae tries to escape Daehyun's grasp but Daehyun only grabs him tighter, nuzzling his nose into Youngjae's neck. Daehyun sighs, breath trailing across marked skin.

"...If she loved me, she'd be happy I met you," Daehyun exhales wistfully. "If my parents were still around—no, if I had different parents, they'd say you're good for me. I wish I could hear that. You... are the only right decision I've made."

The words are doleful, making Youngjae hold Daehyun tight. Minutes of silent intimacy and consummate trust bleed away and Daehyun lets go, binding their lips for a second and seeing Youngjae out.

The journey back home is nostalgic. Most of his time for the past few months has been spent in Daehyun's home, lost within Daehyun's embrace, stained sheets and his velvet chuckle. Youngjae alights, wasting a moment taking in the dreary surroundings, and heads up. As he unlocks the door, a passing neighbour bleats in astonishment. The young man with orange hair stops and gapes.

"Youngjae?" Kyung calls, patting the man on the back. "Oh god, it is you! Haven't seen you in forever. Where you been?"

"Oh, I was staying over at my boyfriend's place," Youngjae replies hesitantly, the confession startling Kyung for a moment. "Long time no see," Youngjae beams, Kyung nodding and scratching his neck.

"Man, I thought you moved out. This dude came to see you and I told him you moved. Whoops," Kyung snivels.

"Someone visited me?" Youngjae questions, surprised. So far, only Himchan and Daehyun know where he stays.

"Yeah. Think he was around the same age as you and me. Brown hair. He left his name but that was like pretty long ago so I can't remember. Was it Jaebyun? Jaehyun? I don't know." Kyung shrugs, his casualness drawing a sharp contrast to Youngjae's sudden freeze. No matter how Youngjae attempts to think otherwise, he cannot—Himchan has black hair. Maybe he had given the address to Jongup or Yongguk, the only two male brunettes in Cosmopolitan, but Yongguk looks significantly older than him. That leaves Jongup.

"Is he muscular? Kind of big? A bit on the shorter side?" Youngjae blurts. Kyung ponders and scrunches up his nose. "Nah. About my size, a little taller. Had a wide nose, I think."

There can only be one suspect. How did Jaebum find out where he lived? Youngjae has not told a single one of his college classmates of his new apartment. He instinctively glances down the hallway, futilely searching for a trace of umber hair. Why had Jaebum been looking for him in the first place? Youngjae presses back the guilt, glancing back to Kyung.

"Sorry man. I seriously thought you moved out; I didn't see you for weeks." Kyung awkwardly apologises. Youngjae nods limply, excusing himself and shutting himself in his unit. He checks the faucets and stove for any leaks and tumbles into bed, staring over at the coat rack. His blue football team hoodie school hangs precariously on the edge.

_We're gonna ace the college entrance exams, alright, Yoo Youngjae?! Don't give up. We've made it this far. No turning back, sucker!_

The bad scrawl amidst other marker ink messages claw back memories of the day they had finally stepped down. They'd drawn on each other's clothes as they tumbled through the mud amidst boyish screams and encapsulating camaraderie. Youngjae had been team captain and Jaebum always bragged about it, more so than the fact he was vice-captain himself.

Youngjae turns away and closes his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, Harry," Himchan calls as he emerges from the VIP room, snivelling his nose. "We're running out of Cabernet Sauvignon here." Junhong winds around the counter with a tired hum, juggling several bottles and stocking the shelves. "Got it."

The end of work spell has evidently dawned on most of the staff, Jieun and Hyosung lazing on the circular couch. Youngjae curiously peers over, tapping Himchan's shoulder. "Hey, I've always wanted to ask: why do you guys call Junhong Harry Potter?" Youngjae questions, having missed the few chances to pounce on the issue. They do it only sometimes, and it is usually during Daehyun's absence.

Himchan sneakily grins, catching Junhong just as the boy strides out. He brushes up Junhong's bangs, revealing a scar above his eyebrow.

"That answer your question?" Himchan returns.

Youngjae winces. "Ouch. I thought they meant you were handsome or magical or something."

"No hitting on our youngest," Himchan declares, patting Junhong's obscured laceration. "He's too young to lose his virginity."

"I'm seventeen," Junhong points out, "and I'm working at a bar. I don't think you guys are doing a very good job at preserving my innocence."

"Details," Himchan dismisses, roaming away.

Youngjae folds his lips and asks cautiously, "What happened to you?"

It seems like the air momentarily goes still, the nearby waitresses lifting their heads and glancing to the pair. Himchan returns at this instant and clears his throat, filling in, "Knocked his head on the bar shelf."

Youngjae nods gingerly and remarks with a small laugh, "You guys never use the nickname in front of Daehyun."

Hana clicks her tongue and struts over, patting Youngjae on the head. "Sharp one, this boy. You should do the same if you don't want to piss Daehyun off."

"Voldemort fan?" Youngjae jokes, scrutinising the stark laceration down Junhong's forehead. The impact sustained is evidently big to have left such an impression.

Jieun giggles and provides, "No. He's Voldemort himself."

"Jieun," Yongguk warns, though the insinuation stands clear in the air. Jieun waves her hand with a roll of the eyes. "Fine, fine."

She folds her arms, grumbling offhandedly, "Hey, that customer just now, the one with the dumb bowler hat—he's a fucking asshole." She grabs a cup and fills it up quickly.

"Has his head stuck up his ass," Hyosung chuckles. Youngjae had never seen someone who embodied vanity and braggadocio better than the businessman who had stepped in a couple of hours ago. He had demanded the reserved table to be freed up, insistently citing his supposedly fear-inducing name as threat.  _Do you know who I am?_

Youngjae had to redo his Bourbon Sour thrice while Himchan and Hyosung coolly served him, enduring his demeaning insults. Hyosung had taken his sexist taunts calmly, not batting an eye at how he had crudely craned his neck and peered into her cleavage.

"Seriously, how did you stand him?" Jieun irritatedly clonks her glass down, chugging water in and gulping it up. "Like, who the fuck cares if you're the founder of some dumb electronics company? We have people working in the Blue House coming here all the time."

" _I am Park Jungsoo_ ," Hyosung mockingly rehearses the patron's nonsensical spouting, "Yeah, sorry, man; no one knows who the hell you are, and no one gives a damn."

"He used to be a really big name in the past," Yongguk supplies over from a corner, wiping the seats. "He owns Henesia, the mobile manufacturing company. Basically started the whole flip phone trend back in the '90s."

"Oh, I thought he sounded familiar," Hana hums in intrigue. "Flip phones, huh. Haven't heard that in a long time."

"Yeah," Yongguk provides, "the smartphones came and Henesia just sort of died out. Don't know if his company's still up and running. Should have branched out when they had the chance, to be honest."

"He doesn't seem to realise he's a washout," Himchan mentions, plates clattering in his hold. Youngjae helps him gather them and dumps them into the sink. "Can't imagine, though. Flip phones were all the rage and then poof! All gone. Must have been hard for that old douchebag to come to terms with it."

"Pretty much. One moment, you're at the top, the next, you're all the way at the bottom," Yongguk remarks thoughtfully.

"What a pitiful has-been," Jieun snorts. "He's nothing short of delusional, coming here and rampaging around like he's still some big shot. Someone should pull his head out of the clouds for him. Arrogant bastard."

Hyosung giggles and flicks out a finger, tapping Jieun's cheek lightly. "It's cute how angry you are for me." She pecks Jieun on the nose and Jieun yelps, wiping the wetness fervently.

Youngjae chuckles, looking to the door in wait for Daehyun. He briefly envisions Daehyun sitting by a grave marker, wallowing in melancholic nostalgia and 'if only's. Youngjae cannot begin to comprehend a fraction of Daehyun's agony, to lose someone dear to him and leave infinite possibilities regretfully never fulfilled.

"I'm driving you home, kiddo," Yongguk provides, following Youngjae's gaze. "It's Daehyun's instructions; boss says he won't be back till morning."

"What? Why not me?" Himchan interrupts, folding his arms crossly. "Daehyun always asks me to when he's not free." Jieun whistles at this point and grins to herself.

"Dumbass, have you forgotten? Junhong's sleeping over at your place with Jongup. We don't want to make the kids sleep later than they already would be, right? Especially not Daehyun's precious Junhongie," Yongguk chuckles with a wink.

Himchan begins to grumble to himself, sending a death glare to a poor, oblivious Junhong. "That biased dick."

"Oh man, are you really thinking you can get with Youngjae when Daehyun's not around?" Yongguk snorts, instantly inciting a furious, offended yelp from the waiter. "You'd need balls of steel to do that, you desperate, desperate man."

"Watch it, Yongguk." Himchan sweetly smiles, discreetly tapping his lips with his middle finger. "I'm sure you're over the moon about this because you get to jack off tonight in peace."

Yongguk flushes hard and splutters, earning a loud cackle from the waitresses. He tackles Himchan and the two wrestle across the seats for a while before Yongguk decidedly shoves Himchan off, conking him on the head.

"Anyway," he loudly announces, glaring at Himchan momentarily, "I'll be sending you back, Youngjae." He checks his watch, remarking, "First time he's been out so late."

Youngjae nods, emitting a quiet sigh. "I hope he's okay," Youngjae mumbles to himself. "He didn't even bring a jacket." Youngjae clears up the glasses, a persistent chime piercing the air. "Will he be safe by himself? What if he falls asleep?"

"Aw," Hana coos, squealing in captivation. "That's so sweet; you care so much for him! I want a Youngjae for myself." She thumbs Youngjae's chin and teasingly hums, "How about you be mine instead?"

"Get in line, Hana," Jieun calls out, "or "get behind Himchan", to be more exact." An exaggerated, collective gasp resounds from Hyosung and Hana, Yongguk sniggering brashly.

"What the hell are you talking about, Jieun?" Himchan grunts. Jieun tauntingly wags her finger. "Don't think I haven't noticed you checking Youngjae out every chance you get. He's been staring at your ass, Youngjae. Always pretends he needs something behind the counter just to get a look at your booty."

"I don't, you asshole!" Himchan tosses the dirty towel at Jieun and she screams, dodging it just barely. Youngjae smothers back a laugh.

"Seriously, you better not bring this shit up when Daehyun's around," Himchan hisses warily.

"You totally should," Hyosung eggs on, "I want to see some drama in this establishment! Get Himchan fired!" Hana and Yongguk start cheering and Jongup blankly joins in, clearly not aware of what they are rooting for.

"Okay, everyone, shut up and clean," Himchan cuts in, muttering under his breath. A trace of a blush lingers on his cheeks. "It's already been an hour, damn it." Youngjae cheekily wiggles his butt in front of Himchan and the whole room breaks out into laughter, Himchan flushing harder and threatening to hit Youngjae.

About fifteen minutes later, the group file into the car park, Yongguk swinging into his minivan along with Youngjae. He hums a familiar rap song while starting the clunky engine. "Where to, Mr. Yoo?" Yongguk sings cheerily.

"Actually," Youngjae hesitates, his fingers hovering over his phone screen, "can you send me to Daehyun's place? I... want to be there when he comes back." He worriedly looks to the clock on his phone. "He's never been out so long to pay his respects."

Youngjae's thumb recoils from the call button, Daehyun's contact staring back up at him. "You don't know whether you're disturbing him, but you're worried, huh?" Yongguk remarks, reversing out of the lot. Youngjae nods listlessly. Yongguk reaches out and pats Youngjae fondly on his head.

"It's her birthday today," Yongguk explains quietly. "What gentleman leaves a lady alone on her birthday, right? Even if he isn't hers anymore." Yongguk gently weaves his fingers through Youngjae's hair, the motion reminding Youngjae of his mother's tender ministrations. "He said not to tell you since he doesn't want you to misunderstand, but I know you're not that kind of person," Yongguk concludes confidently.

"He was all she had," Yongguk supplies wispily. "So he feels it's his duty, even after death." Youngjae nods weakly, putting his phone away.

"I really wish things could have been happier for Daehyun," Youngjae breathes, eyes forlorn. Yongguk retracts his hand and hums, switching the radio station to a classical music channel.

"I'm real glad you guys got together," Yongguk beams. "You really do love and care for him. He needs you in his life, to be honest."

"You guys keep saying that," Youngjae mumbles, flushed, "but I honestly don't think I've done anything much for Daehyun. It's more of the other way round."

Yongguk drums his fingers against the steering wheel, bobbing his head in time with the orchestral piece. "That's because you weren't here before this." He gestures vaguely. "Trust me, Daehyun's a lot happier. It's in his eyes, you know? Healthier too."

Youngjae glances out the window, the grimy windows blurring the acute night life. "Honestly, I don't know if I can fill Sunhwa's place," he confesses quietly.

Yongguk squeezes his shoulder, stating confidently, "You wouldn't want to. What Daehyun needs is someone completely opposite of Sunhwa, and that's you."

"Isn't that bad?" Youngjae grimaces, self-consciously rubbing his wrist. "He loved her so much. I can see he still does."

"Doesn't mean she was good for him," Yongguk points out with a wheeze. "It ain't good to talk about the dead but Sunhwa really wasn't a good person. Everyone could tell she just dated Daehyun for his money and because she couldn't get anyone better. If she was still alive, truthfully, I think she'll cling on to him like a leech till she finds someone better."

"Did she love him?" Youngjae asks softly. Yongguk wryly grins.

"Well, Daehyun thinks she did. The rest of us personally think she didn't. She was always off flirting and having one night stands, hoping to find a sugar daddy. When she failed, she'd run back to Daehyun who forever had his arms open. Idiot."

"First loves are always the hardest to forget," Yongguk consoles, "don't feel discouraged. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you."

Youngjae still squirms in his seat, playing with his fingers. "I don't mind if he doesn't love me back," he mutters, feeling abashed when Yongguk teasingly croons. "I just want him to be okay."

"That's why I said you're good for him, Youngjae," Yongguk breathes, reassured look intertwined with his relaxed pose. "He really needs you. Someone who can take care of him so we can wash our hands off that burdensome bum."

He chuckles heartily, patting his chest. "As your fellow big brother, I'm going to ask you for a favour, okay? Don't look at other men or women. I know you've got some rich boss coming after you, and this royal descendant too,  _and_ Himchan—though, we can just forget about that loser—but keep your eyes on Daehyun, okay?"

"That boss should be in his sixties. We have a forty years age gap. And I told you, Hayi's engaged," Youngjae laughs. "Besides, people would call me crazy if I ever ditch Daehyun".

Yongguk clicks his tongue. "So you're only with him because Daehyun's a good catch, being rich and all?"

"I wouldn't look anywhere else even if he went bankrupt, happy?" Youngjae puffs.

Yongguk hums with satisfaction, patting Youngjae on the knee. "You're a good kid, Youngjae. I'm real glad you came into Daehyun's life." A slow song on the radio soothes the calm mood, traffic lights bursting through glass along with refracted moonlight.

"I'm curious," Youngjae begins, curling up against the window. "All of you knew Sunhwa?"

Yongguk shrugs. "Sort of. We didn't know her personally but we all talked to her a few times. She didn't really show interest in us, or anything related to Daehyun. Daehyun, on the flip side, wouldn't shut the hell up about her."

"It's sad," Yongguk exhales drearily. "She was so young and she just went out like that. We all warned them about it but still, when it happened, it took us all by shock."

Yongguk scratches his neck and sniffs. "We were all angry at her for influencing Daehyun to do drugs and being a bitch to him, but we couldn't really blame her—it was Daehyun's choice, and from what Daehyun told us, life was really hard for her. Abusive mother, poverty-ridden, couldn't even afford to go to school. Then she fell into drugs. Nothing worked out for her, poor thing."

"Oh..." Youngjae swallows down the lump in his throat, keeping quiet.

Yongguk glances over, offering a sorry smile and changing the topic. "Must be heaven living with Daehyun, huh? His house has everything. I seriously love his sound system there, but that dick banned me from using it."

"Why?" Youngjae chuckles.

Yongguk embarrassedly mutters, "I got really emotional listening to some old records and I guess he got kind of freaked out, seeing me cry."

"Wow, was it that bad? Come on, I need some details," Youngjae guffaws.

Yongguk puffs, "Louis Armstrong is a really passionate singer, alright? I couldn't help but be moved to tears. And well... I kind of couldn't stop crying and um, I didn't want to get out, so Himchan and Daehyun tried to carry me out. I thrashed and poked Daehyun really hard in the eye." Yongguk blushes and begins pinching his nose absentmindedly. Youngjae bursts out laughing, slapping his thigh.

"Did you just want Himchan to carry you?" Youngjae teases.

Yongguk grumbles and huffs, "Oh my god, that's so gross. Shut up." His face lights up and he enquires, "Hey, Daehyun showed you his absinthe cellar, right? That place is beautiful."

"Yeah, he did. It really is," Youngjae replies. He curiously shifts to face Yongguk. "Do you know why he likes absinthe so much?"

"No idea," Yongguk chuffs. "It came out of nowhere. He just started obsessing over it and raving to us about its history and shit. The whole story behind it is pretty cool though."

"What did he tell you?" Youngjae asks. Yongguk shrugs and dismisses, "That it was patent medicine in the 1700s and some other stuff about it being popular all around. Daehyun told me a lot; you wouldn't want to hear it all." He mutters quietly, "I didn't want to."

"Tell me, please," Youngjae persuades. "I'm really curious."

Yongguk scratches his head and provides, "Well, I bet you already know it was banned in the early 1900s. In like, France and some other countries. This Swiss guy murdered his family and killed himself after drinking it. Then people started saying absinthe turns people psycho, when that maniac had actually drunk lots of brandy too."

Yongguk and muses, "You've seen the paintings in Daehyun's house, right?" He circles the side of his head and crosses his eyes, "Crazies."

Youngjae chuckles, recounting the numerous masterpieces hung along the aisle. He had noted several depicted disoriented figures, with the occasional touch of the green fairy seducing them—Viktor Oliva's  _Absinthe Drinker_ , Albert Maignan's  _Green Muse_ , Edgar Degas'  _L'Absinthe_. Daehyun often stopped to peruse them like an ever-mystified curator.

"Did he tell you about how they made it?" Youngjae queries, leaning forward.

"That was more than a year ago, Youngjae," Yongguk groans and makes a face, "I can't remember anything."

"Come on, try, please? I really want to know," Youngjae chimes, tugging gently on Yongguk's sleeve. Yongguk shakes him off, narrowing his eyes with a grin. "Suddenly acting cute... That only works on Daehyun, or Himchan, kid. What's your motive?"

"It's nothing bad," Youngjae promises, fiddling with his seatbelt like a child. "I can't tell you in case you ruin the surprise."

"What?" Yongguk pouts. "I'm not a big mouth like Himchan. What's the surprise?" Youngjae fidgets, suppressing the excited grin spreading across his face. "Tell me; I want to know," Yongguk continues to whine, forgetting to make a turn and making Youngjae yelp.

"Okay, okay," Youngjae concedes after a while, truthfully eager to share. "But you can't tell Daehyun, alright? Swear you won't."

"Cross my heart," Yongguk chuckles as he makes a U-turn back. Youngjae squirms in his seat, letting loose a broad smile.

"You know how Daehyun has all these bottles of homemade absinthe?" Yongguk nods, urging Youngjae on. "He's told you guys too that he keeps brewing these bottles to find the perfect absinthe, right?" 

"Yeah, he has."

Youngjae had asked Daehyun once about the Jack & Jill bottles kept in that locked cupboard. He had been told they were all varying concoctions of absinthe for Daehyun to try out. Daehyun could not confirm whether they were nontoxic or if the ingredients may cause allergic reactions, so Youngjae was instructed not to touch any of the bottles, even those out in the open.

"Oh, you're planning to make one yourself?" Yongguk chirps, earning a fervid nod from the jubilant bartender.

"As a surprise. I thought really long on what to get Daehyun, since he can practically buy everything himself, and the idea just popped into my mind."

Yongguk watches as Youngjae nibbles on his lower lip, enthusiasm demonstrated through his widening grin. Yongguk brims with a fond chuckle and pinches Youngjae's cheek tenderly.

"I really want to make the perfect blend for him," Youngjae pipes.

Yongguk hums, "That's real thoughtful. He'd love it, especially since it's coming from you. What you got so far?"

Youngjae rummages through his bag and hauls out a notebook. He thumbs through the pages, mumbling, "I have a lot of recipes... Starting from scratch is tough so I need a direction."

Yongguk peers over. "I suppose you know about the 'Holy Trinity' herbs? Green anise, florence fennel, grande wormwood?" When Youngjae nods, Yongguk proffers a sheepish smile. "Then I can't help you, sorry. Forgot most of the technical stuff; Daehyun spoke gibberish so I never really understood anyway."

Yongguk pulls up into Daehyun's driveway, looking out to see the living room lit up. Youngjae blinks as he alights, Yongguk peering out. "Looks like Daehyun's back," Yongguk comments, nudging Youngjae towards the door.

"Do you want to come in for a while?" Youngjae questions, to which Yongguk shakes his head.

"Nah. I want to enjoy having the house to myself for once." Yongguk pumps his fist and grins like a child with candy.

Youngjae wiggles his brows and whispers, "So Himchan's right about you jacking off without Junhong around?" Yongguk shoves him lightly and waves, driving off. Youngjae punches in the passcode and unlocks the door, stepping in. The sound of muffled noise startles him and he tugs off his shoes, scouring the house for any presence.

"Daehyun?" Youngjae calls and searches around. He receives no response, the previous ruckus almost an anomaly in the current stillness. Youngjae glimpses into the rooms to find no one and his frown deepens. A chilling, ominous sense of foreboding clambers up his back as he instinctively grabs an empty green bottle from the counter, raising it and stalking through the house. He nears the ajar door of the absinthe cellar, warily approaching.

"Daehyun?" Youngjae repeats, tone hardening to suppress his qualms. The wind blows in at this moment and knocks eerily the door against the frame. Youngjae jumps, tightening his grip on his makeshift weapon, and paces towards the room. Absinthe drips from the glass bottle down his wrist, tinting his skin with emerald. He pries open the door and peers in cautiously, only to be greeted by an empty room.

Youngjae carefully listens for any source of noise and relaxes after a few moments, stepping into the cellar. A thin, soapy scent wafts in the air and the chairs are sprawled out haphazardly. Upon the table by the statue lays a familiar bouquet of white lilies, petals shrivelled up.

Youngjae barely has the time to mull on it when his ringtone slices through the atmosphere, stunning him. He clumsily fumbles out his phone and answers. "Hello?"

"Youngjae," the reception is poor, Daehyun's voice resounding jaggedly over the speaker. Youngjae puts away the bottle and grips the phone with both hands.

"Daehyun," Youngjae starts, "are you still at the memorial ground?"

"Yeah," Daehyun coughs, the crackling line shading Daehyun's voice with hoarseness. "Have you reached home?"

"Actually..." Youngjae trails off and offhandedly glances out just in case for an intruder. "I stopped by your place to check on you."

"Oh," Daehyun hums, something rustling against the receiver. "Thanks. I... I just came back home to get something. I guess I just missed you." So Daehyun had left the lamp on by accident.

He sniffles, continuing with a slur, "Damn it. I, uh, left the flowers behind in a hurry. I'm sorry." He sounds rather disoriented, his croaks hinting at a possible bout of crying. "I was... saving it to bring to her today."

"It's alright," Youngjae lowers his volume, tension evaporating from his straightened shoulders. "It's already wilted, anyway." The green fairy sculpture stares him down as he ambles back and forth, her bleached irises wiping any differentiation within her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Daehyun clears his throat as his sentence ebbs into a strained grunt. "Yeah, I am. Don't worry about me. I'll be back home late, so-" His throat racks with coughs and he mumbles, "so go to sleep early. I'll see you later."

"Take care," Youngjae whispers, "I love you."

Silence ruminates within the gap of phone lines and artificial voices, Daehyun's breathing ragged as he hacks once again. "Me too," Daehyun replies and the call cuts off, leaving a cold, repetitive tone in place. Youngjae puts away his phone and picks up the bouquet, catching the withered petals drooping off. He tosses the white lilies into the bin and plops onto the couch.

Deliberating shortly, Youngjae decides to cook supper for Daehyun. He leaves a note under the plate, scribbling that Daehyun can microwave it if the food is cold when he returns. Youngjae settles back down on the sofa and wraps himself up in Daehyun's blanket, flicking on a random channel to watch while waiting up for Daehyun.

As hours blanch into the dreary breeze of maroon dawn and impatient reveal of sunshine, Youngjae falls asleep to the movie Infernal Affairs. The relentless shooting blaring from the television permeates Youngjae's slumber, the surreal, gaping abyss of all black engulfing him. Youngjae hastily takes off, the clumsy patter of feet behind him relentlessly chasing.

Youngjae scours the ebony expanse for the very same figure in his last nightmare, clad in an immaculate suit of right angles and unadulterated class. He dashes forward to the presence, the man's back turned towards Youngjae. Youngjae thankfully manages to catch up and the very instant he reaches out, a emerald, misty silhouette of a woman manifests beside the man. Her high-heels crack the darkness with every step and piercing light erupts through the crevices.

The jade fog twirls around the man's neck and seeps towards Youngjae, scent vaguely discernible.  _Anise._ Youngjae halts, recoiling his arm and spinning around to find another escape. He catches sight of the perpetrator hunting him and freezes in stupefaction.

Youngjae comes face to face with a young child, a splitting mirror image of his past self. Youngjae flutters his lashes and bends down before the uncanny boy blearily rubbing his eyes. The sleepy child intertwines their hands and tugs Youngjae towards the opposite direction, waking wholly from his nap and pointing adamantly away from the green miasma. Youngjae turns back in horror to find the unknown man thoroughly enveloped by the billows of fumes.

Youngjae briefly lapses into consciousness, comatose eyes distinguishing someone over him. The man delicately runs a hand down Youngjae's jawline and kisses him on the cheek. Youngjae is hoisted into the air, face nuzzled against memorised contours and a brawny chest. He curls up in the man's hold and regresses back into sleep.

Youngjae awakens to fresh late morning and dissipated trepidation in Daehyun's tight hold. His dream splinters into illegible residue, Daehyun's even breath tickling his neck. Not wanting to wake Daehyun up, Youngjae stays motionless, snuggling up to Daehyun and shutting his eyes once again.

  
 

\--

  
 

With the month drizzling away into languorous smiles and celebratory chinks of glasses, Daehyun and Youngjae's departure date sweeps in quicker than expected. The brass-bound ambience flitters past Youngjae's fingertips, melting reluctance into each cocktail Youngjae carves with meticulous ministrations and pre-meditated torpidity. To quell Himchan's pernicious glowers, a substitute bartender is hired and Yongguk assumes the role as bar manager for the time being.

"I can't tell if you're happy or sad," Daehyun drawls with amusement, inclining over the bar. Youngjae lifts his head and the edge of his eyes crinkle, lips hauled upwards along with the crescendo-hitting jazz. Yongguk swoops in and steals the Black Widow sitting atop the counter, inciting an enraged yelp in Jieun.

"That's mine," Jieun snaps, to which Yongguk nonchalantly swings the keys to the bar and points to the 'Manager' badge on his suit. Jieun rolls her eyes and nudges Yongguk's hand, cackling when the cocktail spills onto Yongguk's lap. Youngjae watches fondly, barely noticing Daehyun advancing till the sudden sealing of their lips.

"Do you guys really need to get it on every damn second of the day?" Himchan snorts, particularly embittered today for whatever reason. Youngjae nudges Daehyun away with a laugh and grabs vodka, Kahlua and Bailey's Irish Cream. He blends them into a smooth, decadent mix and serves it in a hurricane glass, edging it towards Himchan.

"Do you want to come with us?" Youngjae teases, earning a grumpy snivel from the waiter.

"I can't," Himchan deliberately spurts, "because I wasted my off days searching for a goddamn bartender with yours truly over there." He gestures gruffly to Daehyun who raises his brows with a smug grin.

"If you wanted your off days back, you could have just asked," Daehyun nonchalantly states. Himchan nearly flares up but he settles on swigging his Mudslide cocktail, pointing to Youngjae.

"I thought you would do so on your own, considering  _I_  was the one who found your boyfriend," Himchan scoffs.

Youngjae perks up in interest, resting his elbows on the bar top. "Whoa, really? Huh. Now that I think about it, I never did ask you guys how you found me."

Himchan mutters, "Daehyun spent a week dragging me to those high-end bars. He wore me out that one night, so when we were heading home, I stopped by that run-down pub you worked in for some warm rum. Daehyun wanted to fuck with you so he ordered that shit, uh, what do you call it... Oh right, Hemingway Special."

"I didn't want to fuck with Youngjae; I thought he was cute so I wanted to surprise him a little." Daehyun reaches over and hoists up his small bottle of Absinthe, Youngjae's eyes instantly following as Daehyun drains it. Youngjae has collected numerous Absinthe brewing recipes, all cluttered in a small file yet to be tested out. If Youngjae can find out which "experiments" Daehyun has so-called failed, he would be able to eliminate several of them and note exactly how much of each ingredient Daehyun would want.

"You wanted to fuck Youngjae, you mean," Hana brashly deadpans. Vermillion stains Youngjae's cheeks and Daehyun chokes, hurriedly gulping down his Absinthe. Jongup tiptoes and covers Junhong's ears, receiving a bewildered stare from the taller boy.

Daehyun's pupils are still blown, the dilating drops from his eye exam yesterday still in effect. They are barely noticeable with his naturally dark irises, especially under the warm, dim lights of the bar. This morning, however, with the pricking sunlight, they had painted him with a somewhat astray look.

"Yeah, well," Daehyun composes himself, frowning at Hana, "either way, I was surprised you knew, Youngjae. Aviation, Ramos Gin Fizz, Between The Sheets; I kept ordering drinks and you didn't fumble at all. In fact, you looked rather happy. Once you aced the Cosmopolitan, I knew you were a keeper." Daehyun chuckles lowly, craning his neck to peck Youngjae on the cheek when Youngjae recoils with a stern look.

"So you were the asshole who made me get off my shift late that day," Youngjae sighs, folding his arms with feigned displeasure. He remembers the day vividly, the vying thrill warping his nerves as he struggled to keep up with the rapid influx of complex orders—which he ultimately managed to surmount. The pub's lighting at the very back had been poor and flickering, shading most customers seated there with obscure darkness. Youngjae had attempted to get a glimpse of the person from table four who had requested all these cocktails at once, almost as though provoking the bartender.

Daehyun parts his lips in bewilderment as Youngjae continues to tease him, crossly muttering, "I had an examination the day after. I nearly fell asleep while taking it."

Himchan gleefully sniggers and hums pointedly, "I tried to stop him. I said that you were so young and he should go easy on you; you were probably only a college bartender. But he just went on and on." Himchan shakes his head with a draggy sigh, Daehyun's expression turning more wide-eyed and forlorn.

"That's sweet. Thank you." Youngjae casts a warm gaze over to Himchan, inwardly amused to see how flushed Himchan genuinely looks.

Daehyun begins to mope like a kicked puppy, taking Youngjae's hands and swivelling the bartender to look at him. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did," Himchan counters, disregarding Daehyun's scowl. Youngjae laughs and kisses Daehyun shortly, offering a mischievous grin.

"I'm just kidding. I like challenges."

Daehyun clicks his tongue though an entertained smile sits upon his lips. "That means I'm one too, right?" Daehyun purrs, caressing Youngjae's cheek.

"You're too much of a challenge. I don't think I like it," Youngjae whispers cheekily.

Daehyun brings their faces closer with a languid smile, breathing, "I'm like a rubik's cube, baby. The more you play with me, the harder I get." Before Youngjae even has a chance to groan in embarrassment, Daehyun muffles him with a kiss.

"Oh god. I need some mind soap," Jieun grouses, slapping her forehead in disbelief. "Can you guys just get out of here asap? Stop releasing your raging teen hormones into the air."

"When's the substitute coming?" Junhong hums. Daehyun smirks, glancing to Himchan. "Soon. I think you'll like her a lot, Himchan."

"What are you trying to say?"

The door swings open at this instant, a sweltering breeze whooshing in along with a dazzling woman. She bows as Daehyun strolls up to her, shaking her hand while they exchange pleasantries. Himchan's jaw drops, ogling at the woman from head to toe. Her hips sway from one side to another, eyeliner gifting a sultry sensuality to her V-line face and bold red lips.

"Son Gain," she introduces herself charismatically, bowing and putting out a hand. Himchan blankly lifts his hand, grasping Gain's fingers clumsily.

"Show Gain around, will you?" Daehyun drawls to Himchan and leads Youngjae out. They hop into Daehyun's Lamborghini, Miles Davis drawn into the cool air with the precise thump of the melody. Lounging around the house for a few hours more, Daehyun's chauffeur sends them to the airport, suitcases rumbling in the car boot.

The transpiration of foggy, tight-lipped Gangnam tunes down into sweat of the middle class and busy Mondays, the glistening Mercedes rushing past faceless crowds to Incheon airport. Their luggages rattle behind them as they head to the check-in counter, Daehyun interlocking their hands. Despite the frequent questioning glances from passers-by, Daehyun adamantly keeps their fingers twined, roaming about the departure hall.

They stop by the duty free liquor shop and Daehyun approaches the counter instantly, the cashier perking up in recognition. He melts into a knowing smirk, inciting unease in Youngjae, and he grasps a golden box from below the cash register.  _[Ruster Beerenauslese, Pieroth, 1983](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1985_diethylene_glycol_wine_scandal)._

It barely takes a minute for the transaction. Youngjae questioningly looks to the wine bottle and Daehyun provides with a low laugh, "I couldn't leave my baby behind." He dangles the bag slightly and Youngjae gapes at him.

"You bribed the store to keep your absinthe?" Youngjae groans and shoves Daehyun lightly, stalking ahead.

"I think of it more as paying them hush money to keep a little secret," Daehyun chirps, catching up and snugly twining their fingers.

"But seriously, you  _had_  to bring it along?" Youngjae clicks his tongue amusedly. "I feel like I'm competing with the green fairy for you."

"You know you're still my number one," Daehyun assures cheekily. The throng of chattering families meld with the aloft weather music. A part of Youngjae wonders momentarily how he had gotten to this point so quickly, because he had estimated his first vacation would be at the age of thirty, after settling down as an engineer. It feels almost like he had cheated his way up to utopia.

Evening traverses through the runways and their reflections reside past the glass panels amid the velour indigo. The airstrip is lined symmetrically with lights on its edge, merging in the infinitesimal distance. They are escorted into the cabin, the airline crew wearing thousand-watt smiles and greeting them personally. Youngjae looks around in wonderment as they pass by the numerous suites to their own.

The rich mahagony lavishly swathes the interior along with beige walls, cushioned recliner chairs facing wide in-flight entertainment screens. Youngjae dazedly pores over their suite and Daehyun chuckles, lightly nudging Youngjae into his seat. An air stewardess offers a glass of Dom Pérignon and Youngjae curiously thumbs out the branded amenities provided, from cologne to sleepwear.

The turbines spin a consistent drone in the backdrop and Youngjae enthusiastically clutches the seat as they take off. He skims through the menu to find tons of extravagant delicacies listed. He takes the two pillows sitting on the ottoman and browses through the magazines, before looking over to Daehyun.

Daehyun is already waiting for a proper response, amusement drawn all over his cheeks. They are separated by a narrow table, Youngjae's wine sitting by Daehyun's smuggled absinthe.

"Wow," Youngjae expels breathlessly, innocently spreading his legs and swinging them around. "Not too cramped, hm?" Daehyun remarks while pulling out the remote control. Youngjae starts to sway his arms around as if measuring his space, Daehyun chortling.

"Too much space," Youngjae gushes, snuggling into the pillows. "This is amazing. I can't believe I'm really here."

"It's all thanks to this gentleman over here." Daehyun proudly gestures to himself. To his surprise, Youngjae leans over and pecks his lips despite the passing flight attendants. Youngjae puffs up his cheeks and bubbles, "Thank you, Daehyunie." Daehyun widens his eyes and straightens up, pinching Youngjae's chin.

"Wow, you're doing  _aegyo_? I've hit the jackpot, haven't I?" Daehyun laughs giddily and parts Youngjae's lips, slipping his tongue between teeth. "You really are too cute for words."

They order dinner, the staff setting out the table and serving the appetisers expeditiously. The exquisite dishes arrive one after the other, a lavish main course of grilled lamb loin with thyme jus wrapped up with a cappuccino creme brulee. Youngjae requests for a Singapore Sling and spends his time binging on TV sitcoms. Bored, Daehyun reaches over halfway for Youngjae's hand and plays with it like a child.

The lights dim and Daehyun requests for their bed to be made, Youngjae excitedly watching as the stewards get to work. The moment they are done, Youngjae springs onto the mattress and rolls around. Daehyun pounces on him and they end up wrestling for a while, before embarrassedly separating as an air stewardess struts past.

"Oh my god..." Youngjae wheezes, nestling himself within the sheets. "This is too much." He moans and curls himself up, squeaking when Daehyun tickles him. The feather touches steadily escalate into firm kneads, the two of them ensconced in a halcyon quietness. When Daehyun's hand inches too close to Youngjae's groin, Youngjae grips his wrist and pinches his nose. "What are you doing?"

Daehyun feigns innocence and hums, "What I always do." Youngjae laughs and shoves him off, only to get attacked and caught in a lip lock. Daehyun seizes this chance to grope up Youngjae's stomach.

"Stop it, you lecher," Youngjae chuckles. "Have some public decency."

"We're not in public," Daehyun informs mischievously, gesticulating to the drawn shut windows and doors. He grazes a nipple and Youngjae nudges Daehyun's shoulder, halting his ministrations. "Are we really going to have sex on a plane?" He questions but still reciprocates Daehyun's kiss.

"Why not?" Daehyun purrs. "Don't you want to join the mile high club?" He nips at Youngjae's neck and sensually rolls his hips against Youngjae's crotch.The thought is enticing but Youngjae glances around cautiously, holding down Daehyun's wandering arm. "Daehyun, we can't. What if they find out?"

"What else do they expect us to do with a double bed and alcohol?" Daehyun licks a trail down Youngjae's neck and Youngjae puffs, "Just sleep?" He guides Daehyun's face to an appropriate distance and breathes, "It's not allowed, Daehyun."

"How do you know that?" Daehyun returns.

Youngjae promptly answers, "I read an article on it. It's banned."

Daehyun sneaks a hand into Youngjae's trousers and slickly jerks Youngjae off. He whispers, "You read up on it? So you were thinking about it... Naughty."

"Daehyun, how about when we reach the hotel instead?" Youngjae groans and bucks his hips up into Daehyun's palm, pleasing the man above him.

"Are you shy?" Daehyun persists in his ministrations and lowers himself to breathe into Youngjae's ear. "But it seems like you're... aroused." He roughly thumbs Youngjae's erection and earns another wanton moan.

"You have to be quiet, darling," Daehyun's whisper dances provocatively on Youngjae's skin. "Else, you'll disturb our neighbours."

Any attempt to hinder Daehyun is ceased as Youngjae gladly allows Daehyun to ravage him. Their bodies mesh within the sheets along with the white noise, Youngjae fervently wrapping his legs around Daehyun's waist and smothering back whimpers. The way Daehyun rolls his hips and strikes his sweet spot so intoxicatingly sends him into a high of no return, the adrenaline tripled with the risk of being caught. Grappling hands and montages of muffled groans bridge the heat between them and they release, bliss another symptom of their happy ever after.


	8. Chapter 8

After being chauffeured to the renowned Marina Bay Sands hotel, the couple are escorted to the Presidential Suite, a breathtaking pinnacle of prestige and splendor. Youngjae nearly gets lost within the opulently furnished room, mesmerised by the striking panoramic view of the skyline. Several aesthetic structures from the famous neighbouring garden park stand tall in the august midnight, gorgeously interlaced with vines.

Pulled into bed by Daehyun, Youngjae slips easily into slumber. The ironic reality settles as a dream while Youngjae is clawed into the same nightmare of endless running. This time, an all too familiar voice screams at him to come back, but it only makes Youngjae sprint harder. He clearly recognises the voice but he obstinately refuses to acknowledge it, dashing further into the abyss of ebony. Sight slowly drips away from his eyes and his footsteps echo against the glassy floor, overwhelmed by totalitarian darkness. The usual green smoke delves into his lungs and he nearly trips, lunging for the scent of wormwood.

A hand grips the back of his shirt, the material reminiscent of his polyester cotton uniform in high school. The school bell piercingly rings in his eardrums and Youngjae's dream shatters into eye crust and ragged breaths, his heart pounding along with the metronome.

He wakes up to an empty bed and he instinctively grasps the sheets, glancing around frantically. Daehyun sits by the grand piano and slurps his absinthe, rising upon noticing Youngjae's disorientated state.

"Are you alright?" He placates, putting aside the glass. He turns off Youngjae's alarm and pulls Youngjae into his hold. Daehyun delicately strokes the man against his chest and kisses his forehead lightly. Youngjae nods meekly but allows himself to recuperate, demolishing the horrors lingering in his bloodstream. Daehyun smells of absinthe, as usual, the vapour most likely ingrained into the fibre of his bones.

"Nightmare?" Daehyun soothes worriedly. "Yeah..." Youngjae mumbles, slinking out of Daehyun's embrace. "I'm okay," he hums and assuringly pecks Daehyun on the lips. Daehyun pets him and informs, "I'll order room service. Full English breakfast?"

"Mm, thanks." He heads for the bathroom before Daehyun seizes the chance to squeeze his behind. As he finishes washing up, their meal arrives, savoury scent sneaking through the vents. Daehyun and Youngjae settle by the dinner table, Youngjae marvelling at the various art pieces affixed to the walls.

"This is far too big for the two of us, isn't it? I mean, look at that," Youngjae points to the hallway and laughs, nibbling on a mushroom. "If you stood there, it'd feel like we were in different hotel rooms altogether."

Daehyun sniggers, "Well, I need space away from you sometimes." Youngjae playfully stuffs Daehyun's mouth with a hashbrown as he chokes. "Eat your food, idiot."

"You're calling me an idiot after all I've done for you?" Daehyun feigns a mope, grabbing his absinthe bottle and pouring himself a glass. "I guess this is what it's like to love one-sidedly." Youngjae glosses over his statement with eyes fixated on the jade concoction, placing two fingers on the foot of the glass and drawing it away.

"You drink a bit too much, Daehyun," Youngjae remarks, Daehyun's expression visibly souring. It has not been the first time Youngjae has brought it up with him, though he had done it more subtly the past few times. Most of the Cosmopolitan staff are heavy drinkers, but Daehyun cannot seem to get through the day without a glass of absinthe. It is almost as if the absinthe is permanently chained to Daehyun's lips.

"I'm fine," Daehyun insists, veering his gaze to the absinthe. "I'm a bar owner, Youngjae. It'd be odd if I didn't drink." He firmly tugs the glass out of Youngjae's hand, nudging it out of Youngjae's reach.

Youngjae tries, "I'm just saying that it's kind of unhealthy. You can't go without a day unless you've had at least a swig of that, and all that excess alcohol in you..."

"And I'm saying I'm fine. I'm not an alcoholic," Daehyun raises his voice noticeably, locking eyes with Youngjae. Youngjae looks away and persists soothingly, "I know, but I think you should cut down a little."

"There's no need for me to," Daehyun counters, annoyance coursing through his tone. He emits a sigh and softly says, "Let's drop the topic, okay? I don't want it to blow up into a fight. It's been less than a day since we landed." He caresses Youngjae's cheek in an attempt to make peace, coaxing him to let it go for now. Youngjae relents, albeit reluctantly. He will have to pursue the issue when they return, but for now, he supposes it can wait.

"...Okay. What are we doing today?" Youngjae asks, Daehyun breaking out into a satisfied smile. "I have a lot of things planned for us, but I'll leave the guide to run through it with you. Don't want to spoil the surprise for you." Daehyun hums to himself, "Singapore's a small country so we won't have to move around too much, which is good."

He feeds Youngjae a cherry tomato and adds eagerly, "I'll be going to an absinthe distillery in the evening." Daehyun swirls his glass of absinthe and cajoles enthusiastically, "I can't wait. This blend is close to perfection."

"Wait, just you?" Youngjae questions, pouting. "You're going to leave me behind?"

"You'd like to come along?" Daehyun asks. "Huh, I thought it'd bore you." Youngjae mutters back, "Daehyun, I'm a bartender. I love visiting these kind of places." In addition to that, this would be the optimum chance for him to experiment with his own absinthe.

Daehyun chuckles and pinches Youngjae's cheek. "I'm sorry, darling. I wanted you to have a break from work." Youngjae clasps Daehyun's hand and hums, "So, you'll take me with you?"

"I'm afraid not." The response has Youngjae lifting his head in surprise. Daehyun apologetically elaborates, "I planned with the tour guide beforehand to take you around while I was gone."

"Can't we cancel it?" Youngjae mumbles in disappointment. Daehyun shakes his head and provides, "I'd already arranged with him. Besides, I think you'll like the activities planned more so than a boring distillery." His ringtone cuts off his words at this point and Daehyun stands, kissing Youngjae on the cheek before heading into another room to take the call. Youngjae restrains his protests and stares after him dejectedly, taking a swig of his milk.

The glass of absinthe stands on the smoothly tiled counter, luring Youngjae in with its meniscus of apple green. The curiosity pries at his fingernails like Pandora crouching by the chest, its forbidden allure doubling with Daehyun's consistent ramble over the phone. He has tasted a tinge of it before via Daehyun's kisses, bitterness too vague to be discerned. Since Daehyun had noted that this was near flawlessness, Youngjae can mimic the taste and tweak it to Daehyun's liking.

Youngjae hooks the glass by its stem and hauls it towards him, the chartreuse tint splashing against the bowl. Youngjae glances back warily and examines the nearly obscured residue at the bottom.  _Grinded peppermint? Or flavour enhancers?_ He frowns at the thought. Daehyun would never stoop to employing artificial flavouring, considering he takes authenticity into account. He scrutinises it further, making them out to be possibly bits of herbal leaves. Youngjae cautiously presses the rim to his lips, tilting it forward.

"What are you doing?!"

The thundering, vehement voice pulverises the silent air as Daehyun crosses the room with three sole strides, wrenching the glass out of Youngjae's hand. Youngjae shrinks back when Daehyun bores his eyes through Youngjae's head, jugular vein pulsing across his neck. The way Daehyun had so roughly snatched the drink is uncustomary, Daehyun usually exercising only tenderness around the other.

"I'm sorry," Youngjae whispers, lowering his head in a thrashing of both guilt and fright at being caught red-handed. He had not even heard Daehyun get off the phone, which means Daehyun had abruptly cut the call to confront him. Daehyun's phone rings again but Daehyun silences it and tosses it across the room. It hits the sofa and rebounds onto the floor but Daehyun does not veer his slicing glare, looming over Youngjae.

"I told you  _never_  to touch the absinthe, Youngjae!" Daehyun rebukes, harsh edge to his words. "How many times have you done this?" Barely giving Youngjae ample time to answer, Daehyun yanks the man up and demands, "Have you drank the absinthe before?"

"I haven't," Youngjae hastily swears. "It's the first time I did it. I'm sorry; I was just curious..." Daehyun's scowl mars his face and he narrows his eyes, nearing the other fiercely.

"This is the one thing I've told you  _countless_  of times not to do!" Daehyun admonishes. "Simple instructions, Youngjae.  _No, drinking, the, absinthe_ ," Daehyun emphasises the individual words furiously. "Was it so damn hard to follow? Is it asking for too much, keeping you away from something  _toxic?_ "

"Are you only going to heed what I say when you've been poisoned?" Daehyun barks, rage pervading his wide eyes. "Will you finally understand then why the hell I'm keeping you away from it?" Youngjae flinches when Daehyun tightens his hold and Daehyun simmers back to his senses.

His harsh breaths dwindle away and he collects himself, sighing wearily. "I'm doing this for your own good. I don't want to hurt you—you don't know what this can do to you." His rigid posture relaxes and he gradually twines his arms around Youngjae, gently weaving a hand through Youngjae's hair. He presses his lips to the space below Youngjae's earlobe and embraces him tightly.

"Don't do that ever again, alright?" Daehyun reproaches, voice returning to a more composed state. "You nearly killed me right there. I was so worried." He lets go for a moment just to shift Youngjae's hand to his back, kissing him beneath the ear once more. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

"I'm sorry," Youngjae whispers, winding his arms around Daehyun as persuaded to. He had seen Daehyun irritated the rare few times they argued, but he had never witnessed him flaring up to such a gargantuan extent. "I didn't mean to make you upset. I just wanted to know how it tastes like..."

"It's dangerous, Youngjae," Daehyun reprimands. "I experimented a lot with the recipe. I don't know what I put inside that you may be allergic to." His fingers twist through Youngjae's hair and he pulls him impossibly closer. "There was once I calculated its proof wrongly. I got alcohol poisoning and had to be hospitalised."

Daehyun leans back and grips Youngjae by the shoulders, eyes delving deeply into his pupils. "Swear you won't ever do it again," Daehyun urges firmly, stern gaze prying out a feeble promise from Youngjae. "I won't. I swear."

"I trust you'll keep your word for it," Daehyun exhales, grazing his lips over Youngjae's. "You have to understand I'm doing this to keep you safe." The unaccustomed tension in Daehyun's protruding nerves evaporates and Youngjae lets loose as well, having unconsciously quailed at Daehyun's sudden wrath.

"I'm sorry I yelled," Daehyun whispers, stroking Youngjae's face slowly. Youngjae murmurs, "It's okay. I shouldn't have done it. You were just looking out for me." The subtle vibration resounds from the couch and Youngjae heaves Daehyun's hand away.

"Go answer your phone. I'll go take a shower." Youngjae heads for the bathroom without waiting for a reply. He undresses himself promptly, the crushed feeling seeping through his chest. The hot shower pelts his skin and he shuts his eyes, swallowing down his remorse. He had been warned umpteenth times by Daehyun not to touch his absinthe, and Himchan had even mentioned that one of Daehyun's friends allegedly took a swig and flared into anaphylaxis.

Youngjae had figured it would be alright for him since he wasn't known to be gravely allergic to anything. He had deserved the berating. He sighs guiltily and soaps up his calves, swivelling his gaze when the door clicks open. Daehyun stands by the doorway and massages the nape of his neck, glancing down to the floor.

"Can I come in?" Daehyun's voice is uncannily uncertain. Youngjae flashes him a small smile. "Sure."

Daehyun enters quietly, hesitating in his movements before stepping over to the sink. He gargles his mouth and shaves down his jaw, awkwardness wafting between the two. Youngjae keeps his eyes closed and rinses off the lather, turning down the faucet.

A light touch on Youngjae's shoulder startles him and he falls back into Daehyun's grasp, Daehyun nestling his nose into Youngjae's wet hair. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I shouldn't have gotten worked up like that." Youngjae reassuringly caresses the arms wrapped around him and says, "It's not your fault. You were worried for me."

Daehyun tightens his hold, Youngjae squirming as it cramps his breathing. "You won't leave me, right?" Daehyun lowers his voice, the manner in which he had spoken alike to children afraid of abandonment. Youngjae twirls around with a perturbed look.

"Of course not," Youngjae lulls. The apprehension and doubt is scrawled all over Daehyun's face and Daehyun repeats quietly, "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to shout... or get angry. Please don't leave me."

"I should be sorry. I won't leave you, Daehyun," Youngjae promises. "I won't touch your absinthe again, okay?" He tangles his fingers through Daehyun's hair and entwines their lips under the light shower. The heat amplifies despite the maintained pace, passion lost within their meshing of breaths.

"I like this taste of you best," Youngjae whispers when they part. "Without the absinthe. Just you."

"I guess I'll have to cut down on the drinking, then?" The connotations are straightforward, inciting a pleased smile from Youngjae. They take an absurdly long time in the shower, emerging just in time for their tour. Their guide is an ebullient and dashing man named Jackson Wang, face adorned with a wide grin. Youngjae offhandedly comments that Jackson is handsome and has to put up with a sulking Daehyun for the start of their tour.

They breeze past the myriad of high rise buildings, the scenic greenery embellishing the view of unremitting crowds and salient gravel. Jackson begins to explain the multiple cultures and ethnicities, leading them through the famed bustling streets of Chinatown and Little India. Amid the vibrant colours and traditional glimpses, they wind past street stores, stopping by several religious temples.

"And this deity is Lü Dongbin, the most prominent of the eight immortals," Jackson provides in a low tone. Youngjae peers around curiously, respectfully keeping his distance. There are several worshippers praying to the gods, joss sticks in hand. "He often carries a sword on his back to ward away evil spirits."

"He was said to be a very intelligent scholar during the Tang dynasty before he was elevated to immortality. Legend has it that Lü Dongbin dozed off while cooking yellow millet, and he dreamt that he took the imperial exam and excelled, and was promoted again and again till he became prime minister." Youngjae nods in intrigue, perusing the divine statues poised on the altars.

"He married a wealthy woman and had two children. But many people were jealous of him, and one day, he was framed. He lost his office and his wealth, his wife betrayed him and his children were murdered. The dream was actually made by his mentor. He wanted him to know glory and success aren't important. They call this the  _Yellow Millet Dream_."

"He is also very well known for the Chinese proverb  _Dog bites Lü Dongbin_ ," Jackson reveals. "狗咬吕洞宾，不识好人心. It means to mistake goodness for evil, and ill reward someone's kindness."

The smell of incense whiffs past Daehyun and Youngjae as they hum with interest, the fusion of deep red and illustrious gold majestic. "And these two are the famous underworld guards, Ox-Head and Horse-Face, 牛头马面. My grandmother actually saw them once in her dreams," Jackson shares avidly. "Five years ago, she had a heart attack. In her coma, she was being escorted by these two into the sea. My late grandfather appeared and fought them off, telling my grandmother to run back to shore."

"Wow," Youngjae breathes, enthralled. Jackson casts him a brazen grin and goes on to explain the numerous Chinese characters in bedazzling gold. They amble past a family crouching by shrine-like furnace, smoke billowing from within and flames licking out at the air. A young boy folds sheets of golden paper into the shape of ingots and places them into the brazier. A clutter of papier-mâché lay on the nearby table, that of houses, cash, cars, phones and people.

"Those are hell bank notes," Jackson informs. "They are a type of joss paper, which are burnt for deities or ancestors, "giving" it to them. People burn these luxuries for their deceased relatives and they are believed to materialise in the afterlife. Cars, houses, servants, money, the most valuable items are burnt for them so they'll lead a good afterlife. The more you burn, the more prosperous they are."

"Oh?" Riveted, Daehyun nears the scorching fire, intense heat sweltering their faces. Jackson continues to elaborate on the exotic culture, touring the outskirts of the Taoist temple.

They have lunch at a local hawker centre, Daehyun voraciously ordering from multiple stalls and swamping their entire round table with cuisines, making sure to spoil Youngjae to the best of his ability. They head down to the National Museum, the afternoon ebbing away into mystical musings and enamouring sights, and go for a short shopping spree. Though Youngjae isn't one to spend lavishly, Daehyun discreetly has Jackson purchasing every single item Youngjae shows even a speck of interest in. Youngjae ends up spluttering at the huge bag of random knick-knacks plopped into his lap, Jackson awkwardly grinning and darting his eyes over to Daehyun.

After a filling dinner at a buffet restaurant, Daehyun and Youngjae are chauffeured back to the hotel, slumped against one another. The day had been embroiled with laughter and tangled hands, their mushy date spanning the numerous hours.

"Are you going to go after this?" Youngjae questions tiredly. Daehyun gazes over at him and pauses, interlocking their hands.

"You know... I really don't want to," he confesses sincerely, the usual effusive and greasy timbre lost.

Youngjae titters and remarks, "You can always stay. Or you can bring me along." Youngjae curls himself up in his hoodie, admiring the blinding neon warping the nightfall. "I really want to go with you, Daehyun. I'm sure Jackson won't mind if I skip out on just one part of the tour."

"I can't stay," Daehyun sighs with a crestfallen expression. "I made arrangements with the owner." He ponders over his next sentence before finally mustering, "She's... actually a business partner. I'll be going there to also discuss if she wants to be one of Cosmopolitan's suppliers."

Youngjae raises his head in comprehension and notes, "Oh... Why didn't you tell me? So that's the reason I can't tag along with you." As inseparable as they are, no sane businessman would drag their spouse with them to a private meeting.

"It's not like that," Daehyun clarifies earnestly. "I really did want you to take a break from work." He rests his head on Youngjae's shoulder and cites, "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get the wrong idea—that this was a business trip and all. I planned this trip before I even contacted that woman."

"I know," Youngjae returns amiably. "You don't have to hide these kind of things from me. I won't misunderstand you." Daehyun nods contentedly against Youngjae, dwindling back into silence. The mosaic of cardinal red and lime green lights sizzle through the atmosphere at every traffic junction.

"I'm sorry for today," Youngjae whispers, leaning his head against Daehyun's. "I was being stupid," he mutters lamely. Daehyun chuckles and prods Youngjae's cheek, warning jokingly, "Curiosity killed the cat." He nuzzles his nose into Youngjae's neck and murmurs, "I'm sorry I raised my voice. I don't want to lose you, Youngjae. I've been to hell and back because of the absinthe and I don't want you to go through that."

"I won't do it again," Youngjae exhales. "I'd much rather skip out on that trip to hell, thank you very much." Daehyun rolls his eyes and silences him with a slow kiss.

When they arrive at the hotel, Youngjae alights along with Jackson, Daehyun adamantly getting off as well. Maroon paints the backdrop behind Daehyun, amber lamppost lights daubing his figure. With tongues tied, Daehyun slinks his arms around Youngjae's hips and finishes with a chaste peck to the forehead. He pulls back with a stern, serious frown.

"Don't look at others when I'm gone," Daehyun warns in a disgruntled manner, glaring past to the poor, innocent tour guide loitering at a distance. Youngjae laughs mellifluously and scoffs, " _You_ don't look at others when I'm not around."

"Never," Daehyun insists resolutely. Youngjae snorts jokingly, "You say that but you're leaving me for your absinthe." Youngjae pinches Daehyun's nose affectionately and the other yelps, nursing his nose bridge with a whine. "Don't cheat on me with the green fairy, you hear me?"

"Take care of yourself. Call me when you're done and don't come back too late, okay? I'll wait up for you." Youngjae conclusively pats Daehyun's shoulder and saunters off before he can protest.

Jackson joins him merrily and throws a nervous look back, ruffling his hair. "Is your boyfriend okay with leaving you alone with me?" Youngjae amusedly regards him as Jackson supplies, "He, uh, doesn't look too happy." Youngjae glimpses back and struggles to smother a laugh, Daehyun still rooted to his spot with crossed arms and dissecting eyes.

"It's fine," Youngjae chuckles. "He's just a little possessive at times." 'A little' would be an understatement, considering Daehyun's regular glowers shot at whoever dare even graze Youngjae. Himchan is often at the brunt of such scornful grimaces, though he cannot care less about abating Daehyun's pique.

"I don't want to lose my job," Jackson guffaws, broad grin spreading over his cheeks, and he checks his watch. "Oh, the light show should be starting right about now."

"Light show?" Youngjae questions.

"Yeah, Gardens by the Bay," Jackson provides zealously. That must have been the lit up botanic garden right opposite their hotel, burgeoned over heaps of hectares. Jackson gestures and Youngjae glimpses out to the swathe of inky night, his breath coming to a standstill. The colossal, tree-like structures brim with ardent colours, glimmering blindingly even from this distance. They intersperse the cool air like stardust carved from glitter, hiding under gleeful childrens' fingernails.

"It's even more beautiful from the ground," Youngjae breathes. Jackson beams, "You should try walking through it. It completely submerses you." Jackson begins to lead the way but Youngjae halts him, staring out to the breathtaking kaleidoscope of polychrome.

"Um... Is it okay if we save this part for later?" Youngjae bashfully asks. "I'd like to go together with Daehyun."

"Oh, of course," Jackson chimes. His boyish grin widens and he sheepishly remarks, "You two are really the ideal couple, huh. Hm, do you want to check out the mall instead?"

They encircle the floors one by one, ascending to the very top along with bubbling, newfound camaraderie. Under persuasion, Jackson takes on a more informal and casual tone, tossing out snarky remarks and uproarious quips. They meander through the stores and stop occasionally for snacks, Youngjae decisively visiting a modest trinket shop before heading back.

Aside from the expected souvenirs, the shelves are crowded with an array of lovely ornaments. Youngjae wanders past aisles of bibelots and curios, thumbing out charming collectibles. The stall itself houses a sweet, homey atmosphere, serenity percolating the brick interior. A shop assistant eagerly hops over, tailing at a distance and proffering glossy smiles.

Youngjae curiously picks out an owl crystal figurine, marvelling its precise cutting. "What a pretty thing," Youngjae hums, Jackson craning his head to get a good look. Jackson pops it into the woven basket without a second thought, cheekily avoiding Youngjae's nudge. Youngjae mulls over what to get for Daehyun while perusing the items thoughtfully. A wooden ornament with vividly-dyed feathers catches his attention and he squints at it, its name right on the tip of his tongue.

"This is..."

"A dreamcatcher," a pleasant voice fills in, the salesgirl with the name tag 'Juniel' piping up genially. "Oh yeah," Youngjae hums, flashing her a grin, "thank you." He fleetingly brushes the netting wrapped over its willow circumference, admiring the various beads adoring the strings.

"These help filter the nightmares from the good dreams," Juniel chirps, gesturing lightly. "You put it above your head when you're about to sleep. The bad dreams will be caught in the net, and when morning comes, it disappears in the light. The good dreams will pass through and slide down the feathers to you."

"Wow, that's really cool," Youngjae remarks in fascination. He roams the store for a while more, Juniel introducing the various totems and Youngjae ultimately deciding on the owl and the dreamcatcher. Jackson escorts Youngjae back to his room and they part ways, Youngjae left to himself.

He pampers himself with a soothing, aromatic bath, paradisal warmth lulling him into a short nap. Awaking to the same luminescent scented candles and no trace of Daehyun, Youngjae dries himself off and boils himself a mug of coffee. Determined to wait up for Daehyun, Youngjae settles on the floor and gathers his absinthe notes, flicking on a random television show. He files through them studiously, occasionally glimpsing up to the blaring 'The Nutcracker' musical and checking his phone for any messages from Daehyun.

The bottle of absinthe has vanished from the counter, expectedly. Youngjae ruminates on the portrait printed on Daehyun's absinthe bottle, an intricate illustration of a cherub boy and girl skipping.  _Should I have a design too?_  Youngjae deliberates with brewing gusto, excitement chewing at his bones. He scours the room for ideas and along the way, notices Daehyun had taken one of their luggages. Youngjae hauls out the trinkets he had purchased, pondering over them.

The hours slip away as Youngjae diligently sketches over and over again an owl, midnight clawing at his drooping eyelids. He glances to the clock and grabs his phone, dialling Daehyun's number. After numerous rings, it goes to voicemail, Youngjae worriedly cutting off Daehyun's recording and redialling once more.

Misgivings begin to swarm Youngjae's mind and he rises, pacing back and forth while repetitively calling Daehyun, to no avail. The daunting dead of night and the foreign environment mounts Youngjae's dismay and he desperately punches in Jackson's number. Just then, his phone vibrates. Youngjae manages to decipher gibberish received, typos littered through the message.

_Go to bed; I'll be back really late. Don't worry about me. Sweet dreams._

_Where are you? Are you still at the distillery?_ Youngjae types back, silencing the trumpeting musical number with the flick of the remote. He hauls out the phone book and searches for the taxi booking hotline. After a prolonged delay, his phone buzzes with another garbled message.

_Go to sleep, Youngjae._

_Daehyun, where are you? I'll come pick you up._ Youngjae restlessly waits for a reply, fretting when none arrives after a lengthy half an hour. Youngjae wraps himself up in a blanket and worriedly glues his eyes to his phone, sending out several texts to Daehyun. His attempts are futile; Daehyun does not answer any of his calls or messages.

Anxiety clouds his mind and draws fatigue far, far away from his nerves. Scenarios relentlessly shroud his mind and the cold-cut edges of the metropolitan skyline seem awfully menacing with the abyssal backdrop. He curls up his legs while waiting on the edge of the bed, glaring hard at his phone screen.

Youngjae nearly drifts off into sleep when a faint rattling noise jolts him out of his stupor. His eyes fly wide open and he briskly crosses over to the door. Muffled beeps of the card being inserted incorrectly resound and the door is pushed open choppily, a piquant odour of herbs and ashes cloaking the room. Daehyun stumbles into the room with his luggage, his complexion wholly rubicund and eyes bloodshot. Youngjae frantically grasps Daehyun as he nearly trips, lurching over to the bed.

"Daehyun," Youngjae exclaims concernedly, struggling to hold the man upright. Daehyun's eyes are unfocused and his skin is warm, spelling another tell-tale sign of excess drinking. Daehyun nearly crashes into Youngjae and he blearily raises his head, meeting Youngjae's eyes after copious effort. Daehyun dazedly delves into Youngjae's irises, glancing from one pupil to the other.

"Young-" Daehyun chokes, Youngjae patting Daehyun on the back as he drowns in a bout of raucous coughs. "Youngjae...?" Youngjae nods meekly and tightens his hold around Daehyun, lugging him strenuously to the bed. The staunch smell of incense wraps itself around Youngjae's neck, Youngjae wincing sharply. Daehyun flops limply onto the mattress and hacks excruciatingly, Youngjae swiftly getting water for him.

"What happened?" Youngjae questions softly as he soothes him with tender strokes over his cheeks. Daehyun heaves deeply and he clamps down on Youngjae's hand. He nestles his face into Youngjae's palm and calms himself with it. His fingertips are distinctly tinted red and glittering with gold specks.

"She didn't want it," Daehyun rasps exhaustedly. "She wants more, Youngjae. I couldn't give her enough. I didn't know what to do." The ramble he spurts is unhinged and disturbing, Youngjae gulping down the rising lump in his throat.  _Is he talking about the distillery owner?_

"Who, Daehyun?" Youngjae slowly asks, allaying Daehyun's alcohol-induced frenzy with a gentle kiss to the forehead. Daehyun merely shakes his head and babbles, "She's angry. She wants more."

"More what?" Youngjae threads his free hand through Daehyun's hair and Daehyun grasps at it, snuggling against it. "More money," he slurs, inciting a frown in Youngjae. "She's angry, Youngjae. I don't know what to do."

"Let her go, Daehyun," Youngjae whispers delicately, masking his growing indignation. What exactly had that bar owner done to Daehyun? How dare she demand more money from Daehyun and flare up at him? They can always scout for another supplier; she would be the one missing out on such a priceless opportunity to work with Cosmopolitan. "You can always find another."

"Can't," Daehyun mumbles. "Can't, Youngjae. She's angry. I don't want to face her." Unsatisfied with the minimal contact, Daehyun grapples up Youngjae's arms and hauls him towards him, embracing him in an awkward angle. Youngjae crossly huffs and hushes Daehyun's incoherent mutter. Determined to give her a piece of his mind, he tries to coax an answer out of Daehyun. "Where is she, Daehyun?"

Daehyun shakes his head obstinately and murmurs, "You can't see her."

"Daehyun, let me," Youngjae persuades. Daehyun persists and chants, "No, no. You can't. You can't." Daehyun locks his arms around Youngjae tighter and Youngjae grimaces, the mattress digging into his ribs.

"Daehyun," Youngjae lowers his voice, allowing Daehyun to bask in his warmth. Daehyun nuzzles into Youngjae's arm and wheezes, "You can't see her, Youngjae. You can't." Never has Daehyun been so inebriated that he has been reduced to such a disoriented state; Daehyun has a high alcohol tolerance so he must have drunk tons of it.

"I won't cause a commotion; I just want to talk to her. Where is she?" Youngjae questions softly. Daehyun shakes his head against Youngjae's arm, adamantly holding on to the man. Youngjae repeats just as tenderly, "Daehyun, tell me where she is."

A long, sinister silence manifests, the enclosed room leaving no traces for any sound to seep in. Daehyun reclines slightly and finally speaks. "In the suitcase," he blubbers, pupils rolling around as he zones out. Bewildered, Youngjae probes silently for clarification. Daehyun gestures to their luggage, the one that had been taken, and grunts, "She's in the suitcase."

A blood-curdling eeriness dawns on Youngjae and he blinks rapidly, parting his lips in stupefaction. Despite Daehyun's deep, husky voice, he utters the remark like a child wary of a monster in the closet. Youngjae's mind draws a blank and he whispers, "She's in the suitcase?"

"Yeah," Daehyun mumbles. "She's inside. And she's angry." Daehyun shifts and continues, "I gave her all the money I had, but it still wasn't enough. What was I supposed to do?" A chilling jolt runs down Youngjae's spine but he hastily washes away the thoughts, chiding himself for so easily falling for Daehyun's words. He can barely string a proper sentence without trailing off into a slur of incomprehensible words; how can he be trusted? In fact, the whole conversation could have been untrue garble.

"Sleep," Youngjae soothes, caressing Daehyun's back as the tension uncoils itself from his tipsy self.

"Sleep with me," Daehyun requests, Youngjae nodding and untangling himself from Daehyun. He quickly slips into bed once Daehyun begins to whine. Daehyun cradles Youngjae in his arms, nearly strangling Youngjae till the man forcefully loosens Daehyun's hulking arms. Daehyun rests a leg over Youngjae's hips and inhales deeply, interlocking their fingers firmly.

The paranoid thoughts turn rampant as the couple bleed into dusk, static, glaring lights of the coporate buildings staying absolutely still in the night. Daehyun has fallen asleep for good, having awoken plenty of times and murmuring to himself.

Smothered against Daehyun's chest, Youngjae cannot catch a glimpse of the leather green luggage standing by the door. He trusts Daehyun, definitely, but the implications are so grisly they have been harrowing his mind and wrenching him from sleep. His questions are still unanswered: Why had Daehyun drunk so much? Why did he smell of charcoal? And did he really mean what he said about the bar owner being angry?

Youngjae peeks up at Daehyun and strokes his peaceful face, rid of the lost, astray look from before. He chastely presses his lips' to Daehyun's and apologetically squirms out of his hold, the movement tedious and painstaking. He manages to escape without stirring Daehyun and he stares at the dartmouth green luggage by the door. It is illuminated by the sole lamp switched on, light at the far end of the doorway illuminating the dubious article.

Unable to bring himself forward, Youngjae remains ensconced in the darkness, grabbing his phone. He jabs in a memorised number and after numerous rings, someone answers the call.

"Y-Youngjae...?" Himchan groans over the phone, sheets rustling as he presumably rolls over. "Oh my god... What the hell, Jae? It's... it's goddamn 5AM here."

"Sorry," Youngjae embarrassedly musters, glancing to the back in the corner. If what Daehyun had said was true, then the stench of decomposition would have long stifled the room. Youngjae is being nothing short of unreasonable, yet he still clutches at his phone.

"Is... Is everything okay?" Himchan questions, groggy tone fading into concern. "Yeah, everything's fine," Youngjae hums back, boring his eyes through the suitcase. "I just..."

"Did something happen?" Himchan's voice loses its sleepy timbre and he clears his throat in seriousness. "Tell me what's wrong, Youngjae."

"It's really nothing," Youngjae forces out a quiet chuckle. He warily glancing over to the bed and relaxes upon finding Daehyun still fast asleep. "It's just that... Daehyun came back drunk."

"Drunk? That guy can get drunk?" Himchan muses incredulously, familiar, exaggerated pitch quelling the suspense in Youngjae. "What's he doing now? Is he puking all over the couch?"

"No, dumbass," Youngjae scoffs, suppressing a laugh. "He's fine. I just put him to bed."

"Oh... Then what are you calling me for?" Himchan snorts. "You miss me, baby?" He sleazily coos, showcasing his usual brand of greasiness. "And wait, you guys weren't together?"

"Far from it. I completely forgot about you," Youngjae jests back, to which Himchan lets out an offended gasp. "And yeah, just for the night. He wanted to visit an absinthe distillery and make connections but didn't want me to think of work. So he went by himself." Youngjae toys with the seams of his clothes and says, "He came back really drunk, smelling like ashes. And he talked a lot of mumbo jumbo."

"What'd he say?" With Himchan's consoling voice accompanying him, Youngjae slowly approaches the luggage, crossing the dark hallway. He cautiously steps into the light and crouches by the baggage, scented faintly with mothballs and antique houses.

"He kept saying  _she is angry_. He told me he didn't give her enough money. I'm assuming it's the boss of the distillery," Youngjae utters. He takes in a deep breath, expelling it jaggedly and reaching for the zip.

"He... also said 'she' was in our suitcase," Youngjae breathes, hand still. Himchan echoes disconcertedly, "In your suitcase? Whoa, who knew Daehyun could be this nuts. What's in the suitcase?"

"I.. don't know. I'm opening it up." Youngjae inhales and pulls resolutely, ragged metal noise impaling the air. Youngjae pries the luggage open and finds nothing but the innocent absinthe bottle perched within, along with a familiar stack of papers. Youngjae inspects it, recognising it as hell bank notes. So Daehyun had been burning these sheets, therefore the vermillion smudge on his fingers.

"Wait, I thought you already knew what was in the luggage," Himchan returns. Youngjae plops onto his bum and rests contentedly against the wall. A plethora of relief suffuses his veins and exterminates the chugging adrenaline, Youngjae peering at the absinthe bottle in solace. He had truly been out of his mind to suspect even for a second that Daehyun would commit murder. He was merely expatiating a nonsensical spiel, nothing more.

"Oh, Daehyun brought one of our luggages out with him, to lug back some bottles of absinthe," Youngjae supposes. "I just opened it up. There's nothing but his absinthe and some joss paper."

"Wait, those are what offerings for the dead. Why would you guys buy that?" Himchan intones disapprovingly. Youngjae answers meekly, "I didn't know Daehyun got them... I think he just wanted to try them out."

"That's disrespectful; Daehyun should know that. It's not a souvenir," Himchan chides. Youngjae murmurs back, "I'm wondering why he purchased them too. It's not like him to be so careless."

"I think he already burned them while he was out, actually," Youngjae comments in a faint voice. "He smells of smoke and his hands are all stained with the colours on the papers."

"Oh." Silence dawdles between the two while Youngjae zips the luggage back up, shifting it into the unlit corner by the cupboard. "Anyway, why'd you suddenly call me?" Himchan queries. "You must have been pretty upset to ring me up at five. It's four for you there, right?"

"Yeah," Youngjae hums, sheepishly trying to phrase a proper excuse. Now that he had proven his irrational doubts wrong, he really had no reason to wake Himchan up at such an ungodly hour. "Sorry, I was just being stupid. I got kind of worked up over what Daehyun said, about 'she' being 'in the suitcase' and all." He cocks his head back, relaxing. "Great, now, I'm wondering why he said that. What was he thinking about at that time?"

"You called me for that?" Himchan sniggers lowly. "Did you really suspect Daehyun of being a serial killer?"

"I was being an idiot," Youngjae chuckles abashedly. "Late nights, jet lag and being in a foreign country can do that to you, you know."

"Mm," Himchan emits a nearly inaudible sigh. "Ah, so how are things between you and Daehyun?" Youngjae strolls to the full-length glass window, gazing out to the lights shimmering in the chilly night. "You mean the trip? It's amazing so far. I wish you were here to see everything."

"...Maybe you should have considered dating me instead, then," Himchan teases, earning a scoff from the bartender. "Seems like you've forgotten about Gain," Youngjae replies tauntingly.

"You know you're my number one choice," Himchan croons. "By the way, she's lesbian. So back to you it is."

"You'd rather chase after a taken man is what you're saying?" Youngjae laughs, muffling the noise in case it disturbs Daehyun.

"There's always a tiny chance you and Daehyun may break up, no matter how much you guys look like the perfect, unbreakable couple," Himchan tackily rebounds. "And... I was asking about how you and Daehyun are doing, actually. How are you two?" The sudden change of tone surprises Youngjae, Himchan burrowing into earnestness.

"Huh? We're fine, aside from the fact that Daehyun got a bit too tipsy." Himchan hums, evidently not too convinced. Youngjae frowns and reiterates, "We're both having a good time." He broods for a moment, glancing to the clock unwittingly ticking away.

"Himchan," Youngjae begins upon realising, "We're fine. I... I was just paranoid. He was out for really long and he didn't answer my calls. I was all alone here in a country I didn't know so I was a bit on the edge." He halts and ends off softly, "I trust Daehyun. I really do."

"I know you do," Himchan assures. "I'm just looking out for you two, you know? In case there's any misunderstandings between you two you guys can't fix." Youngjae mutely settles down on the sofa, checking on Daehyun and then reflecting on his actions. He had indeed felt a sense of foreboding at Daehyun's words, no matter how insistent he was in trampling the feeling.

"Thanks, Himchan," Youngjae says sincerely. "It means a lot."

"Anything for you. But seriously, nothing happened, right?" Himchan asks. Youngjae exhales drearily and utters, "We did get into a fight, but we cleared it up. It was my fault; I went to touch Daehyun's absinthe." Melancholy and remorse pervades his senses at the memory and Youngjae turns to lie on his side. "Anyway, go to sleep, stupid. Thanks for picking up."

"It's good that you guys cleared it up. And there's no need to thank me. The matchmaker sees his work of magic through all the way." Youngjae snorts in return, about to bid Himchan goodbye when he interrupts.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" Youngjae closes his eyes, soothed by the therapeutic sound of Daehyun's even breathing.

"Did Daehyun say anything else?" Himchan inquires. Youngjae backtracks the conversation in his mind and recounts, "Uh... he said he gave her all his money but it wasn't enough. I got angry and asked him where she was, and he told me I couldn't see her. I guess he didn't want me to start a ruckus."

"He was drunk, right?" Youngjae hums in response. Quietness culminates over the buzzing static and Himchan speaks after a pregnant pause.

"...Maybe he was talking about Sunhwa."

Youngjae's eyes flutter open and he sits up, pressing the phone to his ear. "What do you mean?" He breathes.

Himchan sighs wearily, "There were only a few times he drank so much that he got drunk, and it was when he was hung up on her death. Idiot always spouted nonsense, kind of like what you'd just heard. So don't worry about it, alright? He's not a psycho or anything."

"What did he say to you guys?" Youngjae probes. "Nothing much. About the same as what you heard," Himchan dismisses. He yawns and frets, "I'm going back to sleep now, Youngjae. Have a good sleep, kid."

"Wait, did he talk about a suitcase too?" Youngjae presses. Disgruntled, Himchan lets out a draggy breath and drawls, "Well, not exactly. But somewhere there. You should go and sleep."

Himchan is conspicuously trying to deter Youngjae from pursuing the topic. "Himchan..." Youngjae breathes, trailing off into an urging plea. Himchan clicks his tongue and stiffly laughs, "I told you only because I didn't want you to think Daehyun was insane. You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Daehyun's been through a lot. I need to know what happened so I can be there for him," Youngjae reasons earnestly. Himchan expels a fatigued breath and relents.

"It's just... Whenever he was drunk, he'd blame himself. Wouldn't stop insisting she died because of him." Himchan pauses and clicks his tongue, muttering, "It was really stupid bullshit; he said stuff like how he gave her too much absinthe and how she wouldn't have died if they didn't meet."

Himchan escalates into an exasperated rant, "She was already on a downward spiral when she met Daehyun; if anything, he delayed her fall. And she died from  _drug_  overdose, not  _alcohol_  overdose. She took it herself." He huffs and attempts to compose himself, mumbling out apologies. "I'm just guessing, honestly. Maybe he still thinks he killed her so he says these type of delusional crap. I don't know, when you talked about the joss paper, it kind of gave it away. He'd probably gotten worked up over it and drunk a lot."

"It's really damaging," Himchan utters morosely. "Losing someone you love. You think all sorts of crazy shit."

Youngjae lowers his gaze to the floor, slumping as silence overwhelms them. He rises and veers towards Daehyun, still in the same position as before with a hand draped over the space Youngjae had been occupying. So that was what he had been rambling about, in such an indirect, cryptic manner.

"It's not his fault..." Youngjae murmurs, only able to offer these meagre words as he nears the bed. He settles on the edge and extends an arm, caressing Daehyun's head in a bid attempt to palliate the tenacious guilt. The sorrow chars Daehyun's grey eye bags and Youngjae brushes his lips over his lashes.

"He's always gonna think it's his fault she died. Acts like he's over it when he's not," Himchan laments somberly. "I don't like to tell you depressing stuff about Daehyun, Youngjae. It's heavy and you shouldn't burden yourself, as much as you think it's your duty to."

"It's okay. I want to," Youngjae whispers, showering butterfly kisses over Daehyun's jawline. "I want him to get better. I'll be there with him no matter what I have to shoulder."

"...Damn. Now, I really regret not going for you first," Himchan grumbles, inciting a sweet laugh from Youngjae.

"Thanks for telling me, Himchan. I really appreciate it," Youngjae says, tangling his fingers with Daehyun's rough hair strands.

"No problem, Jae," Himchan echoes. "Have a good time there. And call me whenever you want. In front of Daehyun would be best."

Youngjae hums with a soft laugh, and after a couple more minutes of small talk, Youngjae puts down his phone. He wistfully regards the man laying soundly on the bed, charming, gallant anatomy housing such woeful memories. Daehyun's smile lines are indissoluble, chiselled into the sides of his lips.

Youngjae shifts downwards and curls himself up below Daehyun's chin. He gently places Daehyun's hand over his hip and does the same, nudging them closer to one another. The pale lustre of moonlight cascades onto their huddled forms, their unison drawing a singular shadow on the carpet. Youngjae whispers an airy "I love you" before immersing himself in sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Dawn shatters through the midnight fibre of nocturnal fantasies and forgotten reality, sleep fading out into nothing but bits of dust. The residue of numerous dreams are left behind within the crevices of the many groggy eyes as sand, a gift left to remember a peaceful slumber against the sunrise ahead. While children build playgrounds with clumsy hands and wet stardust in their dreams, the weary man crafts out a sanctuary where time moves a little slower and life is composed from vivid polychrome and melting blues.

Youngjae stirs within Daehyun's embrace, rubbing his eyes for a moment before arching his brows at the distinct snoring. The pillow is dipped in drool and Daehyun's mouth hangs open comically, nine o'clock sunshine clambering over his narrow shoulders. Youngjae quashes down his merry laughter and slips out of Daehyun's grasp, gently patting his boyfriend's hair.

Daehyun's face grinds into a griping, sullen frown and he moans in evident discomfort. After getting a glass of warm water, Youngjae ransacks through their luggage for panadol and strokes Daehyun's jawline, coaxing Daehyun from his slumber.

"Daehyun..."

Daehyun grunts and reluctantly tears himself from sleep when Youngjae squeezes his cheek. He blearily snivels and clutches his head with an acute groan, wanting nothimg more than to return to his slumber.

"Eat this and you can go back to sleep, okay?" Youngjae pacifies, pressing the tablet to Daehyun's lips. Daehyun blinks woozily and gruffly wipes at his saliva-stained chin. He blubbers incoherently, "Feed me..."

"Aren't I doing so now?" Youngjae puffs, thumbing Daehyun's cheek lightly. Daehyun shakes his head and throatily wheezes, "Do it with a kiss."

Immediately, Youngjae snorts and stuffs the pill into Daehyun's mouth, the other squawking and begrudgingly swallowing it down. "You're hungover and you're still acting like this?" Youngjae quibbles.

"I do it because I love you," Daehyun whines, tapering off into a pitiful cough. Deciding to mess with his boyfriend, Youngjae hums airily, "If you say so..."

"What does that mean?" Daehyun blinks, confusion brewing in his gaze. "I love you."

Youngjae insinuates vaguely, "That's not what you said last night." He spares Daehyun a thoughtful glance and Daehyun stares harder, racking his brains for yesterday's memories.

"Seems like you had a lot of fun last night..." Youngjae continues with an exhale, wearing the most downcast expression he can rally. Perplexed, Daehyun blurts urgently, "What did I say last night? What happened?"

"You can't remember? You came staggering home, completely drunk. I got you into bed and you said..." Forging a crestfallen look, Youngjae slumps and turns away with a soft breath. "Nevermind."

"What did I say?" Daehyun stresses and clambers into sitting position, clearly straining himself. Youngjae hastily tilts him back to rest against the headboard.

"It's nothing..." Youngjae drifts off, piecing together the most crestfallen tone he can muster. "Go back to sleep."

"What did I say, Youngjae?" Daehyun blurts as his distress amplifies. "I didn't cheat on you last night, I swear. I wasn't with anyone."

Youngjae arches a brow at this. "I thought you were at the distillery with the owner."

Daehyun pauses for an instant as he blankly stills. As Youngjae melts into a feigned frown, Daehyun hastily babbles, "Well, yeah, but I wasn't  _with_ her last night."

"Are you lying to me?" The question is half genuine, half teasing, but it plunges Daehyun into utter turmoil. "I'm not!" He exclaims as he abruptly inclines forward, dark irises nearly pleading Youngjae to believe him.

"I know, I know," Youngjae bursts out into cackles, casting the stupefied Daehyun an entertained grin. "I was joking. From the start."

Daehyun's shoulders relax, relief flooding his unamused face. "You little..." He instantaneously pounces on Youngjae as the bartender shrieks, Daehyun tickling him relentlessly. They melt into a sloppy, loving kiss, parting with a messy smack of the lips.

"I'll have to punish you," Daehyun whispers flirtatiously, lowering himself to steal another kiss when he unceremoniously winces. Youngjae scoffs and pushes Daehyun back onto the bed. "I'd like to see you try in that state."

He chastely presses his lips to Daehyun's forehead and gets off, strolling to the kitchen. He tosses out a bunch of crackers and a banana, fingering out some complimentary tea packets. "Are you going to make me a Hair of the Dog?" Daehyun calls, burrowing himself into the sheets contentedly.

"Nope; I don't believe in it. Not much sense in giving you more of what made you sick," Youngjae throws back. He brews a cup of ginger tea and nimbly slices up the banana. "I just told you to cut down on your drinking, and you go out and get wasted," he muses lightly, searching through the fridge one last time before bringing the meal to Daehyun.

Quietness stagnates the distance between them, an uncharacteristic stillness drawn into the air. They lock eyes as Youngjae settles down by the bedside, a lighthearted smile worn over his chapped lips. Daehyun's slow voice fleetingly cracks the silence. "Are you disappointed?"

Startled by the question, Youngjae pauses for a moment, taking in Daehyun's ashen skin tone and the pallor wrapping his dark eye circles. He tears his stare away from Daehyun and manages out a small smile, stirring the tea. "Yeah, but what can I do? You and absinthe are virtually inseparable."

"Let's stay in today," Youngjae suggests, Daehyun gradually slouching with the plate untouched on his lap. "I'll go get some eggs and rice from the supermarket. They provided us with a rice cooker here, didn't they?" Youngjae glimpses back to the kitchen in thought. "You'll have to eat light meals today."

Daehyun's response comes extensively late in a withered murmur. "I'm sorry." He emanates a nearly inaudible sigh, weighty gaze falling on Youngjae.

Daehyun's reply echoes with an saturated genuineness, providing some sweet comfort for Youngjae. The latter feeds him a biscuit and hums lovingly, "You know I just want the best for you, right?" He ruffles Daehyun's hair and pecks him on the cheek, placing the cracker between Daehyun's fingers. 

"So you're good with staying in?" Youngjae questions, grabbing his phone. He drafts up a message, oblivious to Daehyun's hazy eyes riveted on him. "I'll tell Jackson."

"I'm fine, Youngjae. We don't have to cancel our plans because of me," Daehyun insists as he continues to watch Youngjae, wrapped up in white against the brimming sunrise. Youngjae types and simultaneously answers, "I don't mind staying in. You need the rest, Daehyun. This is the first time I've seen you get drunk."

"Won't you be bored?" Daehyun asks guiltily. "You should go without me."

"Oh, you're okay with that?" Youngjae cheekily chimes and lowers his phone, sending Daehyun a pleased look. "Great, I was hoping for that. I'll go explore with just Jackson, then."

Conflict visibly scrawls onto Daehyun's mien and he melts into an odd cross between disgruntlement and obligation, face contorting hilariously. "Fine," he mutters. "But you have to be back by seven. If he does anything funny, you have to call me, understand? And don't look at his face unless it's absolutely necessary."

Daehyun earns himself a conk on the head and he yelps, nursing his forehead. "Jung Daehyun, you're seriously unbelievable," Youngjae chides, stuffing Daehyun's mouth with a wedge of banana. He continues incredulously, "Then where am I supposed to look when I talk to him? His legs?"

"Knees down to his feet are fine. Between the legs is a hell no." Daehyun hurriedly escapes the next hit, yelling and curling himself up protectively when Youngjae tries again. Youngjae settles on pinching Daehyun's arm, spewing out an uncontrollable guffaw. "You're so stupid."

"But you love me," Daehyun peeks out from under the quilt and greasily throws back. Youngjae nonchalantly rebounds, "Yeah, but I think I'm starting to change my mind."

He grabs the notepad on the nightstand and jots down a list of necessities to be bought, mulling thoughtfully. Daehyun twirls Youngjae into his lap and snuggles his nose into Youngjae's neck, inhaling contentedly while Youngjae continues to scribble.

"I love you," Daehyun murmurs against skin, suckling on the mole on Youngjae's shoulder. His fingers travel southwards and dances over the rim of Youngjae's long pants, slipping down to lazily fondle Youngjae's thigh. 

Youngjae mumbles distractedly, "I don't think you have enough energy to finish what you're starting, Daehyun."

"How about you ride me, then?" Daehyun sultrily purrs, nipping at Youngjae's earlobe. Without hesitation, Youngjae shuts the notepad and rolls off. He declares pointedly, "I think I'm gonna spend the day with Jackson instead."

Daehyun splutters at this and hauls Youngjae back, sniffling, "Okay, I'll stop. Ugh, I should have hired an old man to be our tour guide instead."

"You know Jackson has a girlfriend, right?" Youngjae states matter-of-factly, inwardly amused at Daehyun's behaviour. It is ridiculously easy to reduce Daehyun to that of a child's standard, jealousy usually being one of the foolproof methods. "They're going to get engaged soon."

Unbelievably, his only serves to double Daehyun's grouchiness. "How do you know that?" Daehyun grumbles, hugging Youngjae tighter.

"Since someone was off having fun last night with someone else, I, being the lonely, abandoned boyfriend, spent the night talking to my only friend Jackson."

"What? He's your friend now?" Daehyun questions nasally, displeased. Youngjae looks up and deadpans, "Seriously?"

"Alright, alright," Daehyun concedes unwillingly, pouting and comfortably resting his head against Youngjae's. Twined against the sheets, the world seems to compose a lovely standstill for them to indulge in with feathery touches and light breaths. Floors above the bustling city and the throttling rhythm of rapid footsteps and burning traffic, the morning seems much calmer with the universe muted out of their four walls.

"I'm sorry. If it makes it any better, I was thinking of you. Thinking about my beautiful boyfriend waiting for me." Daehyun presses their cheeks together, cutely nuzzling like an affectionate cat. Youngjae feigns belching but regardless, he allows Daehyun to continue.

"Yeah, right," Youngjae puffs and rolls his eyes. "I don't need an apology. I need a 'Youngjae, I am being a complete idiot and you can hang out with Jackson anytime you want'."

Daehyun clicks his tongue, drawling, "Yeah, I'm afraid that won't be happening anytime soon, babe. Now, tell me what happened last night when I wasn't around. Did Jackson flirt with you?"

"Oh, he didn't have to. He swayed me with his endless, manly charms, being stunningly multilingual and oh so handsome," Youngjae fawns in the most lovelorn tone he can fabricate. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Abruptly, Daehyun pinches Youngjae's tummy, inciting a squeak in the unsuspecting man. "Now, I'm going to have to punish you twice," Daehyun whispers lowly as his hands provocatively trail downwards. Youngjae stops him midway and gazes up with earnestness entrenched in his eyes.

"What about you? What happened last night?"

"Oh, nothing much," Daehyun dismisses coolly as he continues in his cheeky ministrations. "I just went to the absinthe distillery, as planned. I didn't like it, so after a while I planned on leaving. But that woman kept forcing me to drink her absinthe. Even though I refused after a couple bottles, she kept trying to convince me that hers was the one for me."

"Did she do anything to you?" Youngjae asks in worry, interlinking their hands securely. Daehyun shrugs and decides to massage Youungjae's hip with his free hand instead.

"Besides being really persistent? Not really. Honestly, she felt kind of desperate."   

"Oh..." Youngjae nods in comfort. Yesterday's discordant allegations are still fresh in his mind, Daehyun slobbering incoherent pleas.

Daehyun notes Youngjae's brooding demeanour and hums, "Why?"

"It's nothing..." Youngjae fills in. "Just that you said some really weird stuff last night."

Daehyun winds his arms around Youngjae's torso and mumbles, "I didn't cheat on you. I really didn't."

Youngjae assuringly replies, "I know."

"What did I say?" Daehyun asks.

Youngjae nibbles on his lip and hesitates. "You kind of freaked me out, actually," he nervously chuckles. "You said "she was in the suitcase". I thought you murdered someone."

"What?" Daehyun snorts in disbelief.

"Did I really say that?" He slips his fingers between Youngjae's, hoisting their twined hands up and marvelling at the intrinsic way they fit.

"Yeah, you insisted, too. You kept saying she was angry and you didn't give her enough money. I thought maybe you got into a fight with the distillery owner," Youngjae breathes, rubbing his thumb into Daehyun's metacarpal.

"Sorry," Daehyun murmurs. "I didn't mean to scare you. I guess I drank way too much."

"Idiot. What if you got hurt? We're in a foreign country," Youngjae suppresses his worry, mutter wilting into a whisper.

The helplessness from last night stifles his veins. He involuntarily conjures a chilling scenario of Daehyun having been hurt. Besides calling for an ambulance, what could he have done? Would he have been there in time to save Daehyun?

"I'm sorry," Daehyun bleats. He purses his lips and pecking Youngjae all over the side of his face. Youngjae smacks him lightly and catches Daehyun's wandering lips with his own, playfully walking his fingers down Daehyun's jugular vein.

Daehyun gasps, having been used to Youngjae rejecting his advances. He blabs, "Did you just do that? Ho, you're getting more daring by the day."

Daehyun chuckles into the underside of Youngjae's jaw, cajoling, "I like it. I guess it won't take long before you warm up to the idea of riding me."

"You had to ruin the moment," Youngjae laments. He simmers back into seriousness and leans into Daehyun's chest.

"But... what were you doing last night?"

"I was at the absinthe distillery, like I said," Daehyun repeats.

Youngjae presses his lips together, recalling the distinct vapour of cinder entwined with Daehyun's clothes. Did Daehyun forget what he'd done or does he not consider it noteworthy? Or... is he hiding something?

"I found joss paper in the luggage," Youngjae provides, words cautious. "You smelled like charcoal."

An incongruous silence floods the room. Daehyun shifts against Youngjae.

"You looked inside the suitcase?" There is a hint of interrogation to his words, though he ends his query off with a simple hum.

"Yeah..." Youngjae attempts to decipher the question. He can't tell if Daehyun is asking because he didn't want him to look, or if he is interpreting the gesture as mistrust.

"What'd you find inside?" Daehyun ricochets a beat too soon.

"Nothing much. Just a sheet of joss paper and your absinthe. I didn't touch them."

Daehyun hums, "Nothing else?"

"Yeah. Why, was I supposed to find a body?" Youngjae jokes.

Daehyun chuckles, laugh seared mischievously into Youngjae's skin. "Nope. I cover up too well."

Youngjae titters and jabs Daehyun lightly in the ribs. The potent question still broods in his mind and he starts, "I wonder what you were thinking last night. You nearly scared me to death."

"You really believed what I said?" Daehyun snorts in incredulity, drumming his fingers against Youngjae's stomach.

Youngjae pouts. "You kept saying it! And it was 4AM." He glances up and Daehyun amusedly hums into the nape of his neck.

"What else were you doing last night?" Youngjae continues, maintaining the casualness in his tone.

"Hm? What do you mean? I said I was at the distillery." Daehyun's rough hands trail down to Youngjae's thighs, groping them lewdly. The scent of scorched wood lingers beneath Youngjae's nose, suspicion drawn between the bartender's twiddling fingers.

Daehyun had evidently been burning joss paper last night, so it can only be that he does not think much of it, or, more plausibly, he is purposely avoiding the topic.

Daehyun shifts out from underneath Youngjae and climbs over the man, nuzzling their noses and pecking him on the mouth. Youngjae's gaze fails to fathom Daehyun's languid quirk of lips, tranquility scribbled into his smile.

Should he push Daehyun to confide in him, or let time open Daehyun up to him? If Daehyun buries it all behind and pretends it does not bother him, it will eventually manifest into something much uglier and too hefty to shoulder.

"Daehyun, what's the name of the absinthe distillery?" Youngjae asks, tugging on Daehyun's shirt. "You should have at least told me... I wanted to pick you up but I had no idea where you were."

"Anastasia," Daehyun provides after a short pause. "I won't be going back anyway, baby. You don't need to worry."

At this moment, Daehyun glimpses up at the wall and hums in intrigue, pointing at the dreamcatcher hung over the headboard. "When did you get that?"

"Yesterday," Youngjae fills in quietly, still brooding deeply.

"It's pretty. Just like you. That's a dreamcatcher, isn't it?" Daehyun pipes up, grinning broadly.

"Yeah," Youngjae answers, following Daehyun's gaze. "They say it helps to filter out the bad dreams, leaving only the good ones."

Youngjae shifts against the sheets and tiredly droops onto the pillow. "Did you have good dreams last night?"

Daehyun pinches his chin in thought. "Hm, I don't think I dreamt last night."

"Guess it doesn't work," Youngjae laughs, simmering into giggles when Daehyun nuzzles their noses together.

"It does," Daehyun replies easily. "I usually have nightmares. Last night, I didn't."

"Wait, you usually have nightmares?" Youngjae repeats, concern slipping back in place.

Daehyun emits a hearty, boisterous laugh, gently threading his fingers through Youngjae's hair. "Every little thing worries you, doesn't it? Cute."

Youngjae melts into consternation, silence chaining up the lengthy sigh toiling in his throat. The wrinkles drawn into Daehyun's skin mark out the grind of his life, unforgiving and unforgettable.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Daehyun simpers and brushes their lips. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Youngjae reaches up and gently cradles Daehyun's face. "I'm here for you," he firmly states, reassuringly locking their gazes. "You can tell me anything. You know that, don't you?"

"I do," Daehyun chuckles lowly. "It's one of the reasons I'm still amazed I found someone like you."

He steals a quick kiss from the bartender and tumbles onto the other side of the bed, all the while beaming at Youngjae.

Disappointment flickers in Youngjae's eyes as Daehyun ends his speech there, evidently not intending to take up Youngjae's offer. Daehyun notices the dimness wrapping Youngjae's irises and lets out a soft breath, tugging him to lay against his chest.

"I'm not used to this," Daehyun confesses, twining their fingers and rubbing circles into Youngjae's palm. "I've never had someone care for me so much. Thank you for being patient with me."

Youngjae sighs and rolls onto his side, pecking Daehyun on the nose. "I'll always be here for you, Daehyun. For better, or for worse," Youngjae whispers. "I'll wait for as long as it takes."

Youngjae interlocks their fingers and shifts up, pressing their foreheads together. The glaze ensconcing Daehyun's eyes reminds him of a winter spell. The atmosphere stills into a cherished fragility, like that of the first snowfall, and mist clouds Daehyun's irises.

"Sometimes, I wish you didn't love me so much," Daehyun churns out. His voice is raspy and low, as though he is afraid to be heard. "I don't deserve you."

Startled, Youngjae stares back at a loss for words. Daehyun winds his arm around Youngjae's hips and pulls them impossibly close, teeth clacking and desire bridging their bruised lips. Youngjae retracts himself breathlessly and Daehyun chases after his mouth, leaving the other no escape.

"I love you," Daehyun breathes between nips, climbing over Youngjae and pushing him down into the bed. A moan withers from Youngjae's lips and every gasp engulfs his lungs with smidgens of smoke and pungent, minty absinthe. Their movements are slow and romantic, drawn out over the lingering minutes and seconds.

The consuming sensation devours Youngjae as he thrashes between the sheets, Daehyun's expert touch igniting the stars in his eyes. Daehyun lights flames across his skin and marks him inside out, a refusal to let go embedded into Daehyun's clenching fingers.

  
 

\--

  
 

For the rest of the day, Daehyun and Youngjae stay cooped up in their hotel room, flicking through television channels. It brews a warm sense of familial love within Youngjae's tummy, one Daehyun seems to only equate with extravagant dates and lavish gifts.

Youngjae drops by the supermarket and proceeds to cook some chicken soup for Daehyun, despite protests that he is very much fine and they can go on with their itinerary for the day. They laze and cuddle in bed till the blustering sun sets, brimming auburn blending into the sharp mounts of the Singapore cityscape.

In bed, Daehyun cheesily writes of the glow from Youngjae's smile lighting the skyline, beating out the looming darkness. He poetically talks about the pinches of Youngjae's glistening eyes and how they paint over the miserable windows immersed in nothing but tragic black. Youngjae ends up speechless and awfully flushed, embarrassedly thanking him with soft kisses and tender touches.

They meander up to the five-star restaurant Spago, breathtaking scenery merging their lips over a candle light dinner. Afterwards, Daehyun insists they go to the infinity pool at the sky deck. Promising to hold the shaking man, Daehyun tightly winds his arms around Youngjae as the bartender stands by the edge and looks out.

The adrenaline rush clogs his throat as they swell on a full expanse of city lights and clashing neon. The cutting perimetre of skyscrapers cleave into maroon and tumbles of clouds, glistening in cherished twinkles and precious fragility.

With Daehyun's smile smothered against the nape of his neck, Youngjae wonders momentarily if this is what paradise feels like. At the height they are at, heaven seems almost reachable. Perhaps happy ever afters do exist, and they will last for as long as forever.

But when he looks down, the vertigo of falling fifty seven floors to his death grapples at his nerves, awful envisages of blood and bones clotting his mind. Snaps of metacarpal against the concrete, waking up to the sky out of grasp once more and his neck bent against the sidewalk.

Youngjae promptly pulls away from the edge back against Daehyun's chest, and they swim for a while more before heading back to their room. Daehyun swings out for half an hour or so before returning with an astonishing amount of gifts for Youngjae. The frazzled bartender sorts through the wallets and backpacks Daehyun had swooped without much thought, Daehyun not at all bothered by the exorbitant amount he had splurged.

Youngjae's ringtone resounds in the air. Pulling on his long trousers, Youngjae rolls across the bed to pick up his phone.

"Hello?"

"Youngjae!" Himchan's loud voice blares over the speaker, Youngjae tugging the phone away with a cringe as he lowers the volume. Daehyun lifts his head and places down his absinthe, meandering over with knitted brows.

"How's everything, beautiful?" Himchan delves, background ruckus crackling through Youngjae's mobile. A distinctly familiar chortle thumps in Youngjae's ear, one deep and hearty in nature.

"Is Daehyun still in one piece?"

"Everything's fine. And yeah, the idiot is," Youngjae returns, hastily recoiling his leg when Daehyun swipes out his hand to grope his thigh. Daehyun pouts and sits by the edge of the bed, observing Youngjae diligently. He mouths out Himchan's name in silent question and gets ignored.

"How are things over at your side?" Youngjae asks.

"The kids and Yongguk are having a goddamn slumber party over at my place," Himchan groans, words smouldering into an agitated, distant yell. Youngjae can envisage Junhong apologising meekly and Yongguk telling Himchan to let up on their youngest.

Youngjae emits a cherry-like laugh, the gesture inciting disgruntlement in Daehyun. Much like a child grappling for attention, he crawls over Youngjae and attempts to pry the phone out of his boyfriend's hand, Youngjae dodging nimbly.

"I'm guessing from your tone it's self-invite?" Youngjae swats Daehyun away with one hand and titters when Daehyun whines petulantly. He curls up on Youngjae's thighs and settles on playing with Youngjae's free hand.

"You're making it sound so civil. Yongguk rang me up at ten and I had to get out of bed to bring him up. He nearly rammed his SUV into me trying to find my block," Himchan rants, the boisterous, lively cackle of Yongguk reverberating past Youngjae's ears.

Youngjae readily joins in on the sniggering, Himchan's grousing string of vulgarities only serving to add to the hilarity. Daehyun puffs his cheeks at this point and nibbles on Youngjae's finger, demanding for Youngjae's attention.

Youngjae cups the receiver and chides, "You're twenty two, yet you're acting like a five year old." He delicately pinches Daehyun's nose and Daehyun feigns a wail, crossing his arms and mumbling sourly to himself.

"Well, I'm glad to know you're still alive," Youngjae quips. "What are the kids doing? Are they having fun?"

"They're playing Xbox with Yongguk. Yeah, they're having fun, and so is Yongguk, since he's finally feeling hip for once."

Youngjae smothers back a guffaw and Daehyun pulls on Youngjae's long sleeve.

"It's Himchan, isn't it? Put him on speaker," Daehyun says, jutting out his lower lip in an attempt to coax Youngjae. Youngjae pays no heed to him him and pats down Daehyun's wandering hands.

"And what about you? What are you doing?" Youngjae purposely lowers his pitch, flirtatious tone trailing through his words. Daehyun blinks hard and begins to sulk loudly, griping to himself.

"Questioning my life decisions," Himchan provides with a hoarse sigh. "Ah, enough about me. What are you doing now? Is Daehyun with you?"

"Hm, nothing much. Just lazing around. And yeah, he is."

"Put him on speaker," Daehyun whimpers, blowing against Youngjae's tummy through the fabric of his shirt. Youngjae yelps and shoves Daehyun away, giggling quietly.

"Gross, I can hear that idiot acting cute. Anyway, everything A-okay, Jae?" Himchan queries. "Is he talking about murdering someone again? Stuffing the body into, I don't know, a laundry bag or something?"

The moment Youngjae erupts into a melodious fit of laughter, Daehyun rises grouchily. He clambers over Youngjae and seals their lips, breathing, "Hey, I said put him on speaker."

Muffled, Youngjae tries to escape Daehyun's lips, but Daehyun persists in his pellets of kisses.

"Why are you two having a private conversation?" Daehyun mopes, catching Youngjae's lower lip between his teeth and suckling softly. Youngjae finally concedes with a final push against the other's chest, and he clicks on the speaker.

"Himchan," Daehyun echoes, the jarring sizzles of the poor reception grating the quiet atmosphere. His deep voice returns promptly and Youngjae rolls his eyes in amusement.

Himchan drags out a groan just as Daehyun reprimands, "Stop making Youngjae laugh. It's pissing me off."

"I'm sorry you're so boring," Himchan shoots back remorselessly. "Oh, by the way, your precious Junhongie is having a sleepover at my place. He locked himself up with Jongup in the guest bedroom. I, uh, think he's smoking marijuana...?"

" _What!?_ " Daehyun nearly screeches, grabbing the phone briskly from Youngjae's hands. "Stop him, Himchan! What the hell!"

Himchan bursts out into merciless cackles and Youngjae instantaneously choruses along. Daehyun clutches his forehead and tosses the phone onto the night stand, laying back down on Youngjae's lap.

"I'm cutting your salary when I get back, Himchan," Daehyun growls, shutting his eyes and snuggling against Youngjae's thighs.

"This is how you repay me for being Junhong's babysitter?" Himchan counters in disbelief.

Daehyun disregards him. "Why is Junhong with you, anyway? I thought he was only going to stay over on Saturday."

"Well, since you gave us a few off days, and Junhong's only friend is Jongup, Yongguk decided to dump him at my house."

"So, Junhong's bored?" Daehyun muses, pulling his lips to the side in thought. Youngjae tenderly runs his hand through Daehyun's hair and Daehyun affectionately nestles against Youngjae's palm.

"Hello? Are you not going to care that I'm shouldering this burden of a seventeen year old for you?" Himchan rebounds, incredulity drenching his tone. "And Yongguk wants me to tell you that it's getting tougher to provide for Junhong, with the recession and everything."

Daehyun's eyes momentarily light up and he hums, "Hey, bring him to Universal Studios. I'll pay you for everything when I get back. And tell Yongguk I'll give him a raise."

"God, I really want to punch you right now," Himchan wheezes. "Can't you just take Junhong back in? It's already been a year. And don't use Youngjae as an excuse."

"Nope, I can't. Take care of Junhong for me. Thanks. Bye." Daehyun blindly extends an arm and pats the table top for Youngjae's phone, planning to cut the call.

" _You_ take care of your damn boyfriend for me," Himchan yells abruptly. "Else, I'm going to take him for myself."

Daehyun eventually grasps Youngjae's phone and settles it on his stomach. "Don't worry yourself. I'm taking better care of him than you ever could."

"Yeah, right," Himchan mutters in sheer annoyance. "That's why you left him alone last night, huh? And got him so freaked out he called me at 5AM?"

Daehyun's eyelids flit open and he gazes up at Youngjae, surprising warping his pupils. Youngjae churns out a wry smile and averts his gaze, Daehyun getting up to face Youngjae directly.

"You called Himchan?" Daehyun questions, blinking several times as he cups Youngjae's cheeks and guides the bartender's stare to his face.

"...Yeah. I was afraid," Youngjae quietly explains. "You came back so late, drunk, and you were saying weird things..."

"Yeah, like how you murdered someone and stuffed them into your luggage," Himchan snorts, listening in on the couple's conversation.

Daehyun melts into a soft look, sprinkles of guilt shadowing his greyish irises. He releases a long exhale and gently coaxes Youngjae into his arms.

"Idiot, do you still dare to say-"

Daehyun disconnects the call and places the phone away. He props his chin up on Youngjae's shoulder and rests his head against Youngjae's, linking their fingers.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Daehyun sighs quietly. "I didn't know you were so scared. I won't leave you alone at night again."

"Forgive me, please?" Daehyun whispers, tightening his hold on Youngjae's hand.

Youngjae remains mum and simply nods, folding his lips. The silence broods on their shoulders, cementing the air into a touch of somberness and the glaringly unsaid. He decides to venture for once, sieving out the guilt dripping from Daehyun's tone.

"Daehyun," Youngjae starts faintly. "Can you promise me you'll be honest with me?"

The dust specks glide underneath the lighting seem to await Daehyun's response with Youngjae, tauntingly waltzing to the misaligned tempo of the conversation. Daehyun's response comes a beat too late, unanswered questions flaring into the auburn lights.

"...Okay."

Daehyun's sole word resonates like an odd, unsettling truce. Youngjae shifts in Daehyun's hold.

"What happened last night?" Youngjae asks, syllables soft.

The silence yields. Daehyun emits a stretched out breath, ready to snap into smithereens. He takes a long moment to find his words.

"I went to the absinthe distillery," Daehyun breathes. He hesitates for a moment more before admitting, "Their home-brewed brand wasn't my type so I left early—then, I came across one of those incense burners. Since I had a little free time... I went to burn some joss paper."

"Was it for Sunhwa?" Youngjae questions slowly, afraid to crack the tension coiled around them. The disappointment over Daehyun having hidden this from him lugs his heart down by a treble, but he wills it away temporarily.

Daehyun heaves once more and nods against Youngjae's skin. His arms instantaneously latch tighter around Youngjae's waist and he presses their faces closer together, breathing softly against Youngjae's skin.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to think wrongly of it. I just..." He searches for the correct words only to shrivel into a weary sigh. "Jackson was saying all those things about giving money to the dead, and since she never got what she wanted when she was alive, I thought maybe..."

"It's okay, Daehyun. I'm not mad," Youngjae soothes, tilting his head to gaze at Daehyun. He lightly strokes Daehyun's cheek and assures, "You can tell me anything. Really. I just want you to tell the truth."

Daehyun flutters his eyelashes before acquiescing with a wordless nod, shutting his eyes once again. The daunting atmosphere sinks around them, hefty and murky. Youngjae admits he feels rather glum Daehyun does not trust him enough, but then again, he had rung up Himchan last night and done the same.

"Hm, Himchan suggested you to take Junhong back in," Youngjae begins, hoping to lighten the mood. "I don't mind Junhong staying with you, you know. I'd love to see that cutie every time I drop by."

The inertia hangs starkly in the air. Daehyun remains quiet and absentmindedly traces the rim of Youngjae's fourth finger.

"I don't trust myself enough to do that," Daehyun murmurs. Youngjae glances up at Daehyun and budges to get a better look of him, only to be shifted back into Daehyun's lap.

"Himchan told me you asked about Junhong's scar." Daehyun slips out his fingers from Youngjae's hold and settles on meshing his own fingers together, locking Youngjae in his grasp.

"I gave it to him," Daehyun divulges softly. "I don't want a repeat of that to happen."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Youngjae offers gently, squeezing Daehyun's arm for reassurance.

Daehyun lowers his head and broods for a short moment. He ultimately heaves and nods.

"...At that time, I was still struggling with Sunhwa's death. I couldn't cope so I just kept on with the drugs, every day, same routine. I'd always throw some kind of violent fit if anyone tried to intervene. Himchan and Yongguk would have to subdue me."

"Junhong was living with me at that time. Yongguk told him to ring Himchan or him up if he ever caught me overdosing. One day, Junhong tried to stop me on his own and I... I slammed him into the shelves."

Daehyun swallows thickly, voice strained against unrelenting guilt.

"He was knocked out cold. He started bleeding—really badly. I just-"

Daehyun stops short and a ragged, frustrated breath escapes his lips. His nerves draw a heinous, pale green over his arms and he clenches his hands.

"God, I swore I'd never let anyone lay a hand on Junhong after what his father did to him, and  _I'm_  the one that lands him in the hospital," Daehyun grits. "I put him through the very thing I promised him he'd never have to go through again."

Silence lingers along with the pounding guilt, Daehyun's fingers curling feebly.

"...Junhong cried when he woke up. He said he wasn't angry with me; he was just scared. Scared I'd die too."

Daehyun softens and breathes, "I quit from that moment on. Quit the drugs, quit bartending, quit everything. I made Junhong move in with Yongguk from then on."

"I can't let it happen again, Youngjae. I'm horrible. I'll never be able to make it up to Junhong," Daehyun rasps. "How can I even think about letting him stay with me again? I can't even look him in the eyes sometimes."

The stifling atmosphere seems to lug Daehyun down, memoirs of the irredeemable threatening to break his spine. His raw tone reeks of absolute remorse and a clinging plea to turn back time and erase his mistakes. Himchan has told Youngjae numerous times how madly in love Daehyun had been with mixology, how he practically lived and breathed it as his primary impetus. For Daehyun to give it all up...

Youngjae untangles Daehyun's fingers and slips out of his grasp, choosing to embrace Daehyun instead. He guides Daehyun's head to rest against him and earnestly locks gazes with Daehyun, caressing his cheek delicately.

"Forgive yourself, Daehyun," Youngjae whispers. Daehyun averts his gaze and Youngjae cups his jaw, tilting the other's face upwards.

"Junhong's forgiven you, hasn't he?" Youngjae reasons. "Everyone deserves a second chance. You've quit the drugs for Junhong, and you're not the same person you were before."

"You've changed for the better." Youngjae casts Daehyun a small, comforting smile. "And that's what matters. I'm proud of you for that."

"I don't want to hurt him," Daehyun rasps, clasping Youngjae's hand against his face. "I don't want to hurt you, either."

"You won't," Youngjae returns without missing a beat.

"I think I already have," Daehyun croaks, the acute forlornness thrashing in his eyes stopping Youngjae's breath for a split moment.

"You didn't, Daehyun," Youngjae lets out a quiet exhale. "What happened last night... I just want you to be honest with me. I'll wait for as long as it takes for you to heal."

"We'll get through this together, okay?" He shifts closer to Daehyun, their breaths meshing in the silence. "You and me."


	10. Chapter 10

The following morning, the couple awake to the glaring sunrise slashing through the glass windows, dawn demanding the awake from pitiful reveries and fraudulent realities. The residue of Youngjae's nightmare litters his memory, and his heart does thumps erratically like it routinely does.

He had been in a forest, willow trees rampant in the clearing. The eerie screech of a banshee had tailed him ravenously, threatening to rip him to shreds if he did not sprint for his life. He somewhat recalls trying to turn around to see who was chasing him, but the soothing lull of a deep voice had coaxed him to run further, along with his own fears.

The deeper he went, the louder the low, composed hum resonated, directing him through the seemingly safe woods. Youngjae tumbled to a stop when the lullaby amplified to an unbearable extent, and what he saw was a skinwalker. It wore terrifyingly the skin of a man, and Youngjae saw abounding green liquid trailing from its camouflage.

There was that unmistakable sound at the back of his head, however, as the screams dwindled into a familiar male voice calling out his name from behind. Upon seeing the gory, sinister beast before him, Youngjae realised he had been lead to a trap. Glaucous, toxic smoke plunged into his lungs and grated hysterically at his throat, and he collapsed to the sound of an unmistakable, grievous wail.

It sounded just like Jaebum.

"Good morning, princess," Daehyun purrs, not at all ashamed as he gropes his boyfriend's behind. Youngjae kicks him off the bed and Daehyun splutters out a cry of defeat, plummeting to the ground. Youngjae tosses over a few pillows, each one of them plopping onto an inert Daehyun.

Youngjae seizes a kiss from Daehyun as he gets off the bed, heading to brush his teeth. Daehyun orders a traditional breakfast for them both and he snuggles against Youngjae on the couch, slurping at his soft boiled eggs. His absinthe religiously sits in his hand, the combination brow-raising.

Youngjae puts on the Chinese movie Dream of the Red Chambers and nibbles on his toast, paying no heed to Daehyun's lovelorn stare and needy pecks.

 _Truth becomes fiction where the fiction's true; real becomes unreal where the unreal's real._ The subtitles skim past briefly, Youngjae absentmindedly pecking Daehyun's cheek when the other rises.

"I have to go meet that distillery owner again today."

This catches Youngjae's attention as he whirs his head towards Daehyun, parting his lips in surprise.

"You said you didn't want to deal with her."

"I'm going to settle things properly with her today, since I was rather drunk the last time," Daehyun hums, crossing over to the cupboard to pick out a set of clothes. "Make it clear to her I don't want any of the absinthe."

Disappointment inadvertently sprawls across Youngjae's face as he breathes, "I thought we were going to spend the day together."

"Baby," Daehyun presses a light kiss to Youngjae's head. The cold burn of absinthe scratches into his skin. "I'll only be gone for a few hours. I promise I'll be back in the afternoon, okay? Jackson will take you to an art exhibition in the building."

Youngjae curls his legs up against his chest and does not respond, picking at the seams of his long pants. The recollections of Daehyun lunging into his arms, inebriated and unhinged, pricks at his mind incessantly.

Daehyun watches him from the other side of the room and sighs quietly, pacing over and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.

"For the next few days, I'll be all yours," Daehyun whispers placatingly into Youngjae's ear. "Don't pull a long face, beautiful."

"You'll really be back by the afternoon? As soon as you can?" Youngjae questions. His guts feels unusually unsettled as he peers into Daehyun's eyes, the man looming over him nodding without a moment's hesitation.

"And you won't do anything rash?"

Daehyun nods once again, sealing their lips as thought forging a contract. He sweeps Youngjae away to shower with him and finishes the movie with him, before heading out to meet Jackson. Daehyun's usual disgruntled grumbles and possessive warnings dwindle into a soft apology, Youngjae planting a saccharine kiss on Daehyun's nose and pleading with him to take care of himself.

Youngjae and Jackson settle down at a Malay restaurant for lunch. The afternoon buzz swirls overhead, chatter of a brimming crowd accompanying the sanguine scent of their dishes. Jackson throws a look over his shoulder, warily watching out for Daehyun and igniting a chortle in Youngjae.

"Turn back one more time and Daehyun will really be there," Youngjae jokes, slurping at his soup. Jackson erupts into cackles and nudges Youngjae under the table.

"Please don't curse me. I have a fiancée."

Youngjae clicks his tongue as amusement shades his cheeks. "So, have you finalised your wedding date?"

"Nah, not yet. My grandfather's still settling some immigration stuff over in Hong Kong and he wants to move here permanently before the wedding. So not any time soon, I guess. But hopefully, it'll be within the next two years."

Jackson lifts his head in curiosity. "What about you and Mr. Jung? You guys seizing a marriage date? Heard September was really popular last year."

"Hm?" Youngjae returns. "Oh, um, we haven't thought about that yet..."

"Any plans for the future, then?" Jackson questions. "Get a house, marry in five years, have a few kids, et cetera?"

Youngjae purses his lips. "Don't think so. We don't have any concrete plans for the future. We haven't really touched on marriage and all."

"Living in the moment, huh?" Jackson grins widely. "I'm jealous. I gotta think about the soaring housing prices here. Probably have to work the next ten years to pay off half my mortgage."

"Harsh." Youngjae cringes empathetically, brewing a belly-like guffaw from Jackson.

"You know, our country's people tend to think a lot about the long-term," Jackson mentions offhandedly. "Always fussing over our degrees, investments, whether we'll be able to live comfortably. We're a pretty pragmatic country, kind of a competitive society too."

Jackson wipes his mouth gruffly with a napkin. He blathers, "We even have this whole mandatory savings fund, for our retirement years. See, we're always thinking about the future. Whether things will last."

"It's a good thing, hm?" Youngjae offers good-naturedly. "There'll be a safety net to fall back on, in case anything goes wrong."

"Guess so. But man, it must feel good to live without any worries," Jackson beams warmly.

Youngjae averts his gaze and raps his fingers slowly against the table. The mere thought of the future incites an unwelcomed nip up his skin, like a rain of pins puncturing through his nerves. Where would he want to be in the next ten years?

At this moment, he is living rather comfortably, considering Daehyun insists on paying for Youngjae's expenses. On the off chance they break up, he supposes he will be able to just barely sustain a decent living in Korea. This predicament had been gnawing on the back of his head as he considered Daehyun's job offer.

Anyone would see him as a fool to give up his scholarship to work at a bar. Despite Cosmopolitan's class, the pay is merely adequate in comparison to what he could likely have earned if he had worked at that aerospace agency. It was twenty one years worth of blood and sweat that was on the line, punching in numbers and writhing through gruelling examinations for a career people would deliriously grapple for.

Youngjae had solved his dilemma simply—he went ahead because he felt like it, something terribly uncharacteristic of him and shamefully idealistic. He hurled all considerations and potential pitfalls out the window, turning a blind eye to the incredulity begging him to look back at how much effort he had invested.

But he chose this path based on what he wanted, so it was ultimately the right decision. Youngjae squirms in discomfort and he briefly wonders what Jaebum thinks of it. Youngjae never gave himself the chance to find out, however, since he cut off all contact with him.

"Honestly," Youngjae murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't know what I want. I don't know what Daehyun wants, either."

Youngjae shelves these pressing muddles out of habit, leaving them to claw their way out to his consciousness another day. He plays a little with his food, leading Jackson to poke his arm out of camaraderie.

"Come on. Don't look so down. Mr. Jung said he'll be back by four from the absinthe distillery, uh, Anastasia, right?" Jackson cocks his head one side and bares his teeth cheekily. "I'll be your husband for today. Just don't tell my girlfriend."

Youngjae rolls his eyes in amusement and swats Jackson's finger away. They perch themselves on the observation deck, sun beating down on their backs as Jackson introduces the numerous establishments rooted high and mighty into the soil. The cornucopia of pacifying green, shrubs and trees sprouting along the highway, draws an easy, tranquil mood around them.

Afterwards, they make their way to the ArtScience museum. There are a plentitude of art galleries, all striking in nature, and Jackson leads him to the enclosed exhibition at the very end. In bold letters, the word 'ACTUALLY' is ingrained into the signboard hung over the entrance.

A well-built man stands by the side and he instantly extends a hand for a cordial handshake. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Yoo. I'm Mino, and I'm the curator of this art gallery."

Mino holds open the door and casts Youngjae an amiable smile, the trio entering the exhibition. The gallery is gargantuan, extending far and wide with a consistent tempo of artworks along the space. Youngjae peers around in marvel, colours loitering in his periphery as he steps forward.

"The theme of this exhibition is  _actuality_ ," Mino provides, gesticulating to the numerous rows and columns. "The essence of it is that every piece here captures what is actually happening, against mirages and illusions. Many a times, it's easy for the common man to distort reality, very much so because arguably, nothing around us is definite. The potent question here is what constitutes reality?"

They meander past several works as a particular few catch Youngjae's eye, Mino elaborating at length on each. Youngjae stops by a cluster of models, one of an elderly man kneeling in front of a woman. The female model is dressed in office wear and caked in make-up, discomfort etched into her perpetual wince. The man is supposedly putting on shoes for the lady, except that in his hands are toddler footwear, much too small for the woman's feet.

The placard beside it writes  _My Baby Girl_ , along with a photo of a middle-aged man holding his daughter's hand.

They move on to the adjacent painting, that of a man digging a hole into the ground. On first glance, he seems to be mining for treasures, a bowl of glistening gold resting beside the pit. However, a tombstone lays at the top of the trench, eerily as though the miner is digging a grave for himself.

 _There is no truth. There is only perception._ The line is printed across one corner of the room in a jarring black font. They amble past several optical illusions, Mino explaining how they showcase the concept of relativism.

At another area, three models are positioned—a photographer taking a photo of a middle-aged woman holding onto what appears to be a child. The son, however, is wrapped up wholly in pieces of paper, stuck heinously to his skin and leaving only his quirked lips visible. Upon closer inspection, Youngjae realises they are examination certificates, exceptional grades written for all to see.

Youngjae leans down to find an ordinary photo of the mother and child, the young boy grasping onto a certificate as the woman proudly smirks to the camera.

"She's holding him like a trophy," Youngjae remarks, sparing a few more glances before moving on.

They come to a stop outside a room with a notice beside it. Youngjae bends down to read the trigger warning.

"This part of the exhibition can be controversial," Mino advises. "It contains disturbing themes, mainly suicide, but there's no gore. Some viewers have found it to be very disconcerting. It's not for the fainthearted."

Mino furrows his brows and cautiously questions, "Are you comfortable with proceeding, Mr. Yoo?"

After a moment's thought, Youngjae nods slowly. Minho creaks open the door and Youngjae abruptly freezes, a disquieting chill slashing through his nerves.

The enclosed exhibit confines a multitude of pale, life-size mannequins, leaving just barely enough space for them to trek past. Each dummy is hung up high in the air with a noose clutching to their necks, the static atmosphere ghosting past Youngjae's skin. The unbreakable stillness is excruciatingly unsettling, as if imitating that of the dead.

Not one of the mannequins is swaying and time seems cemented into a standstill within the room. Mino enters first, guiding an unsettled Youngjae in with Jackson.

"This is a project called  _What's Your Noose?_  by the Society of the Arts," Mino supplies. "They took submissions from all over the world, so each of these mannequins represents someone's story."

"Submissions?" Youngjae breathes, afraid to crack the stagnant, nearly choking air. They round past a couple of mannequins, one hung to the ceiling by its tie, clad in an immaculate suit. On its plain dress shirt is written ' _I hate my job so much_ '.

"Yeah. They had an open call, asking the public to write in about what was suffocating them," Mino says. "What's discreetly killing them."

Youngjae breezes his eyes past the models dangling from the ceiling, discomfort crushing into his throat as he clasps his arm for comfort. Another mannequin donning a dress is strung from the ceiling with measuring tape, and the haphazard scrawl on its blouse writes ' _Still not thin enough_ '.

One of the figures is hung by a strange, twisted and flesh-like cord, pale grey peeking underneath the pink skin. There is a splatter of blood at where the cord is clipped, and Youngjae realises belatedly it is meant to portray an umbilical cord. _Wish my son was never born._

They gradually pace past the numerous others hung around the room, the sight alike to a massacre growing more nauseating by the minute. A mannequin at the far end has a normal rope tied tightly around its neck, but it sits at a desk with its back straight, along with numerous open books. The nearly obscured note on its chest says ' _Can't sleep now. I've got so much to do_ '.

"It's a twist on an old anecdote," Mino fills in. "There was a famous Chinese scholar who tied his hair to the house beam such that if he fell asleep while he studied, he would feel pain from his hair being pulled. His behaviour was considered praiseworthy for being so diligent."

Youngjae glances back to the model and grimaces, gulping down the lump in his throat. Mino escorts Jackson and Youngjae out, the two lingering by the door as Mino closes the exhibit.

"It's thought-provoking, huh?" Mino offers a consoling smile, emitting a sigh. "Many of the other visitors have found a few stories that they can relate to personally."

"The whole exhibition is really to ask one question," Mino surmises. "What's your noose?"

Mino and Jackson glance past Youngjae at this moment. Before Youngjae can turn, a pair of strong arms coil around Youngjae, resting comfortably on his shoulders. Chapped lips meet the back of his ear and Daehyun purrs, "I'm back, handsome."

"Daehyun!" Youngjae nearly squeals, spinning around with an exuberant simper. His eyes rake over Daehyun's face, checking for any anomalies, before he interlocks their hands firmly. Daehyun's presence swiftly alleviates the fear creeping up Youngjae's back, anxiety's silhouette dispersing with the snap of a finger.

"Someone's excited," Daehyun laughs, melting into a dazed, amorous look as he steals a quick kiss from Youngjae. "Did you miss me that much?"

"Mr. Jung, you've returned," Jackson echoes, bowing slightly and Mino doing the same. Daehyun spares them a small smile and nods to them both, returning his focus back to his boyfriend.

"How was the tour? Is it over?" Daehyun hums, kneading Youngjae's cheek fondly as the other grimaces.

"It was amazing," Youngjae returns, pinching Daehyun's face back in revenge. "Too bad you weren't here."

"The tour just ended. I'm glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Yoo," Mino provides readily. He gestures towards the door and guides the couple out, Jackson taking over once again after a cordial farewell with Mino.

In the car, Daehyun nudges Youngjae to rest in his lap, affectionately tangling his fingers through Youngjae's soft hair. Curled up on his side, Youngjae rolls onto his back to find Daehyun peering at him softly. The giddy, earnest smile has followed Daehyun since just now, nestled against his wrinkly cheeks.

"You seem really happy," Youngjae mentions softly. "Did you settle on a good compromise?"

"We didn't compromise. I told her a flat out no," Daehyun says, "and came running back to my little angel."

"Gross." Youngjae whines upon getting his cheek prodded, rubbing at it. He continues, "And you're happy the owner's finally off your case?"

"I could care less about her," Daehyun scoffs. He lifts his knee, hoisting Youngjae's head up along with it, and brushes their lips.

"I'm happy because of you," Daehyun whispers, no greasy timbre lingering in his voice like usual. "I love the way you looked at me just now."

Sincerity permeates his stare and Youngjae gazes back, entranced.

"Just now?" Youngjae lowers his volume, preserving the tender moment between them. Within Daehyun's irises is a remarkable, unbeatable fondness, and it runs down Youngjae's breath into brittle inhales.

"Mm. When I surprised you." Daehyun lets go of a dream sigh, thumbing Youngjae's lips lovingly. "Don't think anyone's looked at me that way before."

"And how was I looking at you?" Youngjae breathes, lips curling teasingly.

"Like how I'm looking at you right now," Daehyun easily answers, lowered voice igniting a shudder up Youngjae's spine. Daehyun parts Youngjae's mouth and captures another candied kiss from him. Jackson clears his throat awkwardly from the front and Youngjae titters into their lip lock, pulling Daehyun down further to deepen their kiss.

They pull apart to the lackluster drone of the engine, alluring landscape galloping past into the intemperate eventide. Fuchsia bleeds through the windows and glistens the tips of Daehyun's hair, and Youngjae can really only think of this instant in time. Not the past, not the future, but now, where they seem to stand in a world of their own.

"That's good to know," Youngjae exhales, seizing another sweet peck from Daehyun.

They wind up at a magic show at the esplanade after an extravagant dinner. The dramatic slices of neon momentarily blinds them as the grandiose opening act unfolds. A hypnotic, airy voice reverberates through the theatre as a flock of doves ripple across the audience.

"Do you believe in magic?"

The distracting, lustrous light rays precipitously burn out into full-blown darkness. A spotlight dramatically falls onto a sole figure standing on stage, marking the introduction to an incomprehensible mirage.

It almost seems like a wonderland as the unbelievable come true right before their eyes, logic and rationale crumpling into nothing but fanciful awe. It is nothing but sheer deception, yet Youngjae falls prey to the illusion with every calm snap of the finger.

They whiz through beguiling escape stunts and hand sleights, flamboyant antics beckoning a standing ovation after every round. The last act is the traditional trick of sawing the assistant into parts, the florid lady emerging unscathed.

"Do not part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live."

With that, the show comes splendidly to a close and the curtains are drawn. When the lights flicker back on, the audience are hauled ruthlessly back to reality, still trapped in wonderment. Left with a pinch of hope, they are left with a mere few minutes to dwell on the cloudy delusions and the childish prospect of 'maybe'.

Youngjae swivels to face Daehyun and smothers back a laugh at his enraptured expression. Daehyun stares awestruck at the empty stage without deviation, the throng crowding towards the exits. The incandescence of his eyes teem with a peculiar flare of innocence, his mouth parted in enthrallment.

Daehyun abruptly grabs Youngjae's hand and tugs him towards the stage, Youngjae pattering behind in bewilderment.

"Daehyun, where are you going?" Youngjae splutters. Daehyun barely acknowledges Youngjae's befuddled call and expeditiously drags him backstage, cast members snapping their heads towards them with heightening murmurs.

A brash voice attempts to catch up with them. "Sir, you're not allowed to enter-"

Daehyun stops short in front of the magician in the midst of removing his accessories, now draped over with a pink towel. Behind the curtains, the splendour of this magnificent sorcerer drizzles into mere dullness. The bewitching spell of the illustrious stage is dismantled into mundane, discernible parts, unravelling the Fata Morgana.

The startled performer raises his head and meets Daehyun's mystified countenance.

"How did you do it?" Daehyun questions eagerly, much like a small boy demanding for candy.

"I'm guessing you're asking for all of my tricks, mister?" The magician wryly grins and quickly glances away, perhaps to call on security, before answering casually, "A magician never reveals his secrets."

"I'll pay you."

Daehyun sieves out his wallet from his pocket and lugs out an entire stack of bills. He stashes it into the flabbergasted performer's hand. Youngjae stares agape, at an utter loss for words.

"Daehyun..."

"Tell me," Daehyun presses, craning his neck in wild curiosity. "How did you do it?

The performer puts up a hand to stop the approaching staff, eyeing the substantial wad of cash in stupefaction.

"Wow," the magician mutters under his breath. He musters up the same composed, languid smile as before.

"Since you're insistent, well," he hums lowly, "It's all about misdirection."

"Misdirection?" Daehyun ricochets with a brow arched. The magician plucks out a red sponge ball and points to it.

"Yes, misdirection. It's a form of deception. While you're focused on something, the 'magic' happens elsewhere." He pats his shoulder and Daehyun grasps the ball on his shoulder, scrutinising it arduously.

The artist churns out a smug grin and pockets the money, patting his pants. "Sorry. I can't tell you anymore, else my business will be ruined."

"What? So, that's it?" Daehyun scowls, incredulity and indignation seeping through his words. " _Misdirection?_ "

The derisive edge to his tone rings sharply amid the commotion backstage. The performer spares Daehyun a condescending look of askance.

"You didn't think this was real magic, did you?" He poses quizzically.

Daehyun sulks for a while more before clasping Youngjae's hand, leading him out the theatre without another word. Youngjae stops Daehyun in his long strides down the hallway and cups the taller man's jaw, rubbing a thumb into Daehyun's pout.

"Are you okay?" Youngjae asks in consternation, still taken aback by Daehyun's spontaneous actions. Daehyun had wholly thrown him off guard with how rash he had been, so unlike his usual levelheaded, charismatic mien.

Daehyun puffs, folding his lips together like a child. "Mm. Just kind of disappointed that it's all a sham." He kicks at the carpet floor and folds his arms sullenly. "I thought that it'd be cooler than just  _misdirection_."

Youngjae knits his brows together and muffles back an amused chortle. "You're so silly. Of course it wouldn't be real. That magician wouldn't be doing magic shows if he could really do the things he did."

"Yeah, but... I wanted to believe," Daehyun huffs. He nearly sounds like a toddler throwing a tantrum over gifts under the Christmas tree.

"Are you running a fever?" Youngjae cheekily places a palm over Daehyun's forehead. "I never knew you had a side like this to you."

Daehyun pulls a long face, brewing more laughter in Youngjae's tummy. Youngjae hooks arms with Daehyun to pacify him and ushers him towards the lift lobby.

"Come on, little boy. It's time for bed."

  
 

\--

  
 

Over the next five days, the couple explore the wonders of Singapore without any interruptions. They jump from one tourist hotspot to another, the unrivalled beauty of the ever changing city scape chiselling a mural into their memories. From the languid bar-hopping at Clarke Quay to the stupendous light show at Gardens by the Bay, their vacation concludes exhilaratingly with tripled passion and blissful laughter.

They sweep back numerous pretty souvenirs for their friends and a few knick knacks for themselves. Youngjae purchases an ebony diary for Daehyun, with an whimsical quote carved in its front:  _Waking up to who you are requires letting go of who you imagine yourself to be._

He secretly gets a watch for Jackson too and they promise to keep in touch, Youngjae telling him to drop by their place if he ever comes to Korea.

Daehyun does not do much gift shopping, instead choosing to buy a few spirits home for themselves. He does, however, insist on getting a sex doll for Himchan, so as to ward away the pesky waiter from Youngjae. That earns him a stinging smack across the head from his boyfriend.

They arrive back in Korea in the wee hours of the morning and collapse onto the couch upon reaching home, falling asleep against one another.

Within days, Youngjae is back to being Cosmopolitan's one and only bartender, reunited with the gurgle of liquor and clinks of glasses. An impressive number of patrons had noted Youngjae's absence, questioning the servers as to when he would return.

Daehyun and Youngjae's fairy tale stretches infinitely over the time horizon, unceasing red carpet flowing to wherever their feet seem to step. Perhaps the minute hand of the clock remains always a moment away from striking twelve, and the glass slippers will stay on as Youngjae pirouettes to the scent of absinthe and Daehyun's romantic smile, an imperishable dream come true.

  
 

\--

  
 

The autumn gales sails past the lace veils by the window, wistfully twirling the fabric to dance. Silence ruminates in the near silent household as Youngjae sits cross-legged on the bed, a frayed chest beside him. The brooding nostalgia lays with him as he leafs through the array of yellowing keepsakes, all strewn across the bedspread.

It has been hours since Youngjae had retrieved his old trunk of memoirs, ransacking through each and every antique knick knack. Jaebum's toothy grin glares up at him from a photograph during their middle school days, after Youngjae had won a Math competition. The boy had mischievously pounced onto Youngjae's back and clinged onto him like a Koala.

Youngjae remembers having fallen right after the camera clicked and Jaebum had unapologetically stepped on his stomach. Youngjae had chased Jaebum across the foyer and tackled him. That was when they got their first detention, standing outside the classroom with hands raised.

Truly, there is no one but Jaebum who has been with him every step of the way through the twenty two years of his life. They met in kindergarten and somehow managed to be there for each other up to college, friendship spanning over a decade's worth of memories.

Though their personalities were unlike one another, they complemented each other like left and right, always wanting the same things and having similar goals and aspirations. They trudged through thick and thin and documented each other's labourious hard work like a seamless reflection. Jaebum is, in essence, very much his greatest memento from his early years till now.

He wonders if Jaebum hates him now. It is possible, since he himself would feel betrayed if Jaebum got up and went without a proper word of goodbye.

 _I wrote him a letter_ , Youngjae argues in his mind, pounding the creeping guilt up his back. Yet, the reality continues to scoff at him, wrenching him out of his delusional stupor. Pathetically, he could not tell Jaebum face to face that he was dropping out of college to pursue his dream job.

Youngjae wheezes softly, peering from the dated, grimy photographs to the fluttering curtains. The breeze rustles the dreamcatcher hung above their bed, tussling the feathers and entangling them with the willow snare.

Youngjae gets onto his knees and carefully pries the piece of paper trapped within the net, evening it out with a thumb. Daehyun had attached an excerpt from a classic to one of the tails when they had returned.

_Often, Peter Pan had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of other boys. For hours he could not be separated from these dreams, though he wailed piteously in them. They had to do, I think, with the riddle of his existence. At such times it had been Wendy's custom to take him out of bed and sit with him on her lap, soothing him in dear ways of her own invention, and when he grew calmer to put him back to bed before he quite woke up, so that he should not know of the indignity to which she had subjected him. But on this occasion he had fallen at once into a dreamless sleep._

Youngjae settles back down onto the mattress and curls his legs up into his chest, pensive musing weaving through his mind.

His father had called three days ago. Youngjae has yet to call him back.

"Youngjae."

Daehyun peeks into the room, his echo frightening the other. Youngjae hastily sweeps his mementoes into one lump as Daehyun enters, amusement worn on his creased cheeks.

"Daehyun, I thought you wouldn't be home till three," Youngjae blurts, discreetly trying to clear his items back into the box.

"The meeting ended early," Daehyun says as he climbs onto the bed, loosening his tie and hurling it aside.

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing I'm back early," Daehyun drops his voice several octaves, burying his nose into Youngjae's neck. "You're not cheating on me, are you?"

"Yeah, cheating on you with a clutter of my musty old stuff," Youngjae retorts. He squeaks when Daehyun pinches him, caressing his inner thigh.

"Going on a trip down memory lane, I see?" Daehyun chuckles, reaching out for a stack of polaroids. He thumbs through them in intrigue as Youngjae apprehensively regards him, chucking back his other belongings.

"Was there ever a moment in time you weren't beautiful?" Daehyun purrs sleazily, lightly grazing his thumb over Youngjae's face. "So cute... I could just eat you up."

Youngjae snorts and kisses him chastely, dumping back the soccer ball keychain Jaebum had gotten him for his eighth birthday. He pries away the polaroid between his fingers while Daehyun fingers out another heap of photos.

"Hm, who's this?" Daehyun delves, skimming past the photographs. His knobby finger prods at Jaebum's face.

"My friend," Youngjae provides, barely sparing a glance at Daehyun. An awkward pause materialises in the conversation as Daehyun waits to no avail for more details.

"He's in a lot of your photos," Daehyun chuckles. He whistles as the images gust past him like a film roll, the two boys gradually aging in the montage of photos. "Seems like you've known him for a long time. Wow, from pre-school to college."

"Yeah. We were- are really close friends," Youngjae answers, scooping up the polaroids from Daehyun's grasp. Daehyun simply helps himself to more, thumbprints staining the picture frame.

He nods contentedly and kneads Youngjae's leg with one hand, leaning back against the headboard. "You should introduce me to him. What's his name?"

Youngjae flutters his lashes blankly. He hoarsely churns out, "Jaebum."

"You want to see him?" Youngjae repeats, decibels dwindling as he plucks the last polaroid from Daehyun's hands. He stashes it away together with the family photos tucked underneath his knee.

"Mm. I'd love to meet your parents too," Daehyun chimes, tracing shapes into Youngjae's smooth, pale skin. "I want to thank them for bringing my one true love into this world."

Youngjae feigns throwing up and guides Daehyun's palm from his thigh, slipping off the bed. He conclusively shuts the chest and latches it up, stowing it away into the cabinet.

"Someday, I guess," Youngjae exhales, closing the closet door. He spins around and they meet eyes, Daehyun watching him with an undecipherable mien from the bed.

"What's wrong?" Youngjae approaches Daehyun, tilting his head one side. Daehyun continues observing Youngjae with an unnerving wordlessness, before he sneakily swoops Youngjae into his embrace.

"My boyfriend's such a mystery; that's what's wrong," Daehyun sighs faintly, mustering up a small smile "You're not embarrassed of me, are you?"

"Of course not," Youngjae instantly returns, guilt crumpling within him. "Now's just not the best time to see them." He apologetically murmurs, "I'll bring you to see them soon, okay? Both Jaebum and my parents."

"Okay," Daehyun concedes, clinging tightly onto Youngjae and nearly squeezing the life out of the poor bartender.

"I really want to meet your parents, Youngjae," Daehyun breathes, starry-eyed countenance lighting up his irises. "I hope they'll like me. I'll be like their son, and we can be a big, happy family."

"Don't count on it. My parents aren't the affectionate type," Youngjae titters, wiggling out his held captive arms. "But I'm sure they'll love you. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, you know?"

"Well... as long as you do, then that's all that matters." Daehyun nips fervently at Youngjae's jawline, tickling out gushes of laughter from Youngjae.

"You have to tell me everything, alright, Youngjae? I'm here to listen. It's not just a one way thing," Daehyun whispers when Youngjae nudges his lips away.

Youngjae grazes his cheek tenderly. "I will. Don't worry about me, Daehyun. And please, if I'm a mystery, what are you?"

The unmistakable tinge of dried emerald tints Daehyun's mouth. Youngjae delicately thumbs Daehyun's lower lip, inwardly pondering on when to bring up the issue of Daehyun's excessive drinking. They had to abandon the matter for the sake of their holiday, but even now, Youngjae still wishes to avoid riling Daehyun up.

"I drank just a cup today," Daehyun proclaims, startling the man in his embrace. The knowing, heartfelt smile Daehyun deliquesces into is breathtaking, and so, Youngjae rewards him with honey-stained kisses and amatory gazes.

"You don't know how much I love it when you look at me like that," Daehyun purrs endearingly. "Like you'd never look at another till the end of time. As if every little inch of you is all mine."

"Well, I can't guarantee that," Youngjae jokes, evading Daehyun's pincer fingers. They spend a few minutes playfully wrestling one another before Daehyun pulls away, ruffling Youngjae's hair.

"You haven't eaten, have you?" Daehyun raises a brow, to which Youngjae sheepishly beams.

"I forgot," Youngjae supplies and pats his tummy.

Daehyun clicks his tongue, hand naturally mapping out Youngjae's curves and eliciting a shudder in the boy. "I swear, it's like leaving a baby alone at home. Doesn't know when or how to feed himself."

"How about I go cook something nice for my little prince?" Daehyun offers, chuckling when Youngjae adorably cheers.

"After you're done eating..." Daehyun voraciously squeezes Youngjae's behind and shoots him a sultry smirk. He lowers himself down and his tongue swipes out at Youngjae's earlobe.

"It'll be my turn to eat," Daehyun purrs sensuously, dashing, smug grin gracing his lips.

"Jung Daehyun!"

Daehyun hastily ducks out the room and slinks away to the kitchen, just barely managing to dodge the flying pillow. His laughter wanes out like distancing peals of bells. Youngjae shakes his head in disbelief.

Ensconcing himself in the blankets for a long while, Youngjae reluctantly burrows out of his makeshift sanctuary upon hearing his buzzing mobile. He sits up upon seeing the contact and mirthfully answers the call.

"Jackson," Youngjae bids amiably, tumbling off the bed.

"Ah, Youngjae. Hey." Jackson's usual sprightly voice is eccentrically misplaced, the man sounding tense and tight-lipped. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Back to reality now with work and everything," Youngjae responds while pacing out of the room. Crackles and sizzle puncture the initial quietness, a crisp aroma wafting down the hallway. Youngjae steals a peek at his boyfriend humming a low tune by the stove, charismatic profile a blush-inducing sight.

"How about you?" Youngjae winds away through the corridor and skims past the various pieces incised into the wall. The luscious, evergreen vines hang atop the wooden door at the very end, persuading him to come closer with its tranquil guise. Daehyun's absinthe cabinet is perpetually locked, mystique its greatest allure.

"I'm fine," Jackson caroms, astoundingly quick. "Um, how's Mr. Jung?"

"He's okay too," Youngjae replies, absent-mindedly pacing towards the absinthe cellar. "He was a little jet lagged when we came back, but he got over it after a day or two."

"Then, are you and Mr. Jung doing well?" Jackson queries hesitantly.

"We're getting by. Thanks for the concern," Youngjae chuckles, admiring the entrance to Daehyun's absinthe cabinet. Lush leaves are cluttered over the front as always, attempting to conceal the secret passageway.

"How about you and your fiancée?"

Youngjae crouches down to marvel at the rabbit sculpture sans clock by the door. Daehyun had brought it in before they embarked on their luxurious vacation, meant to depict the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.

"Doing swell," Jackson dismissively states. "Well, it's good to know you and Mr. Jung are doing okay."

"I thought you said you wanted to Skype. Won't overseas calls cost a fortune for you?" Youngjae asks.

The marble rabbit is carrying his signature golden pocket watch, supposed to tell the current time. Youngjae frowns upon noting the second hand stuck, clock projecting 11:59.

"Never mind that," Jackson mumbles. An inconsonant break in the conversation breeds over the creaky line.

"Youngjae." Jackson clears his throat and halts. "We're friends, right?"

Youngjae flits his lashes, making a reminder to change the batteries of the clock. "Yeah. Is something wrong?"

"It's just..." Jackson drifts off into a frustrated sigh. "Okay, I have a friend; his name's Mark. He's really into the pub business in Singapore; basically knows the whole industry like the back of his palm. An expert on alcohol and everything," Jackson suddenly blathers.

"Oh, that's really cool. You have a lot of connections, don't you?" Youngjae laughs, rising from the floor. He plays with the drooping leaves of the overhead trailing plants, outlining the intricate veins running through.

"You said that the absinthe distillery Mr. Jung went to was under a home brand called 'Anastasia', right?" Jackson presses. "Or was it 'Anesthesia'?"

"Anastasia, yeah," Youngjae confirms. He glances down the corridor to find no one in sight and decidedly grasps the door knob. "I might have heard wrong from Daehyun, though, but I'm sure it's one of the two. Why?"

Youngjae experimentally tries the door knob. Much to his astonishment, the knob pivots fully, no usual rattling, jarring noise hurled back at him. 

_It's unlocked?_

"Either which, I asked Mark about both the names." Jackson stops short with a sharp exhale. "He says he's never heard of those brands here in Singapore."

Youngjae lets go of the doorknob and simmers into a frown, this time fully fixated on the conversation. "What?"

"I searched them up myself and I couldn't find it," Jackson provides, seriousness embedded into every syllable. "I... I don't think such a brand exists here."

The white rabbit bores its lifeless pupils back at Youngjae, the agonised minute hand of its watch twitching futilely. Youngjae grasps the phone wtih both hands and mulls over Jackson's words. There is no doubt Daehyun had told him it was named  _Anastasia._

The pungent odour of musty wood and mothballs ceaselessly seeps out from the absinthe cabinet. Youngjae veers his gaze from the statue to the doorstep, mistrust trampling to the rhythm of his blood.

His mind flings him back to that alarming night, smell of palpable charcoal coating Daehyun's inebriated self. Daehyun admitted burning joss paper the next morning, so it would not make sense for him to lie again, especially since Youngjae gave him the go sign. Why would he manipulate the excuse of visiting the distillery owner for the second time?

Besides, he had evidently been disoriented that night, presenting proof that Daehyun had been trying out the absinthe and overdosed. Youngjae can still recall vividly that Daehyun smelled nowhere close to scorched wood when he had met up with Youngjae at the art exhibition. On their first morning in Singapore too, Daehyun had mentioned how excited he was to try out the absinthe.

Daehyun wouldn't lie.

"Maybe I got the name wrong," Youngjae wheezes, unwilling to acknowledge the possibility that Daehyun lied once more. He gnaws at his lower lip, concoctions clouding his mind as betrayal taps urgently on his shoulder.

"Youngjae," Jackson utters, a soft bend to his consoling voice. "Absinthe was banned in Singapore till just the end of last year. We're a small country, so we've always imported most of our alcohol. That definitely goes for stuff that's not popular, like absinthe."

Footsteps nearly jolt Youngjae out of his skin and he swivels around to come face to face with Daehyun, the man holding up an enticing dish. A flash of a frown mars his tender, amused grin, evidently questioning why Youngjae is standing outside the absinthe room.

"I went to look around myself, Youngjae," Jackson's laborious breath crackles ear-piercingly over the phone.

Daehyun catches sight of the malfunctioning clock, kneeling down and sparing it a rough knock on the head. The clock ticks once again and the glass slipper shatters into smithereens, filthy Cinderella scampering into the night with munching pests and a ragged gown.

"There's no absinthe distillery here. I don't know where Mr. Jung went to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few speshul deets:
> 
> \- 'Anastasia' means ressurection. One of the most famous people with the name 'Anastasia' is the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia, who was executed with her family. Many believed she escape and was in hiding, and there was a whole hoo-ha where numerous imposters claimed to be her in the early 1900s. It was one of the biggest mysteries in the 20th century, and it was proven later that she did indeed die with her family.
> 
> \- Singapore lifted its ban on importing and selling Absinthe on 16th November, 2009.
> 
> \- The artwork about the miner is based off the lyrics from Mino's Fear.


	11. Chapter 11

"Why are you standing there?'" Daehyun questions as he approaches, his soft smile quite unnerving all of a sudden. "I made fried noodles for you. It's done."

He lightly sweeps Youngjae aside and turns the knob to his absinthe cabinet, face visibly hardening upon finding it unlocked. He swiftly hooks out his key from his pocket and locks the door, glancing back to Youngjae.

"Did you go in?" He asks nonchalantly, nothing to be read from his tone. Delving into Daehyun's void irises, drawn with a murky, blown grey, Youngjae slowly shakes his head.

"Really?" Daehyun repeats, craning his neck down and staring directly into Youngjae's eyes. The instinctive suspicion bleeds an unsettling perspective over Daehyun as Youngjae breathes, “Yeah. Give me a minute, Daehyun.”

He expeditiously winds past Daehyun as Jackson's confounded voice bristles over the phone, briskly pacing out to the porch. Throwing a look behind him and ensuring Daehyun has not tailed him, he presses his handphone to his ear and cups the speaker.

"Are you sure?" Youngjae wheezes, attention now wholly chained to the conversation. "Maybe it's one that's pretty obscure or newly opened?"

"Well, I'm not one hundred percent sure,” Jackson divulges, words withering into a lengthy sigh. “Youngjae, I called to tell you this because you're my friend and I thought you deserved to know. Whether or not this is a misunderstanding, I think you should talk to Mr. Jung about it.”

“Honestly, when he left you alone while you guys were on vacation, it seemed a bit iffy to me. The fact that he took so long to come back...” Jackson softly mumbles. “I don't mean to cause some kind of rift between you two or something. I just want to look out for you.”

Batting his lashes against his cheeks, Youngjae hums listlessly, his stomach churning with a nauseating sensation. He provides, "It was for business that he left." He does not want to point fingers but Daehyun has lied to him before. Still, Daehyun did it in efforts to safeguard their relationship as he did not want Youngjae to misunderstand his intentions.

“Thanks for informing me, Jackson. I'll talk to him about it,” Youngjae utters, sunk into six feet deep thoughts. Jackson promises to update him with any new information and Youngjae cuts the call, gaze trained absentmindedly on the floor. The swimming pool glosses against the brittle afternoon sunshine, quiet water ripples threaded along by the slight breezes.

It does not make sense for Daehyun to lie about his whereabouts. Daehyun had already mentioned prior to their departure how eager he was to visit the absinthe distillery in Singapore, so if Jackson is correct and Anastasia is nothing but Daehyun's conjecture, it would mean he was off doing something else while he was away.

Youngjae wearily runs a hand through his hair as he spews a frail breath. If Daehyun did lie, this would be much harsher to simply look past, what with it having been pre-meditated. The typical reasons slither into his mind—perhaps Daehyun was off with another—but Youngjae decides not to foolishly indulge in a guessing game when the answers lie with Daehyun. 

He has faith in Daehyun. He wouldn't cheat. The sliding door rattles behind him and Daehyun's voice ruptures his musings. “Youngjae.”

Youngjae spins on his feet and offers a smile intuitively upon seeing Daehyun's perturbed mien. “Sorry. I had to take a call,” he supplies, gliding past Daehyun and padding into the dining room. As he settles down in the chair, his gaze flickers to Daehyun, the latter noticeably sensing something amiss.

“Who were you talking to?” Daehyun questions lightly, lips quirking as he takes a seat beside Youngjae. 

“A friend,” Youngjae breezily returns, eyeing the bowl of noodles before him with a thin simper. “Wow, you're fast. Thanks. It smells really good.” He picks up his chopsticks and takes a few bites, Jackson's words dwelling potently in his head. With all the caution advised from the staff of Cosmopolitan, he cannot help but question Daehyun despite the remorse flushing underneath his skin.

The sense of mistrust between them brews with a debilitating transparency, Daehyun nodding silently with a ragged sigh. A smile cracks against his cheeks anyhow and he glances away, remarking, “I haven't made this in a while, so I hope it's good.”

“It is,” Youngjae quips, the enthusiasm in his voice so artificial that even he winces at his forced intonation. The cursory minutes of quietness splits with Youngjae's muffled gasp, Daehyun halting Youngjae in his ministrations and claiming Youngjae's lips fervently. He grasps Youngjae's face delicately, nipping vivaciously at the man's lower lip while brushing their noses.

They separate with a coy smack of the mouth, Youngjae's heartbeat walloping staccato into his head from the sudden asphyxiation. Daehyun peers at him through half-lidded, crestfallen eyes, blatantly prying for a more precise answer.

“Youngjae, I don't want there to be any secrets between us,” Daehyun begins with a rasp, dejection scrawled over his countenance. In an instant, guilt grapples with Youngjae's ribcage as he flits his eyelids, tearing away his gaze. He occupies himself with his food as they capsize in a laborious silence, Daehyun gnawing on his lower lip.

“It was Jackson,” Youngjae breathes eventually, lifting his stare to meet Daehyun's atramentous irises. He hesitates momentarily before continuing, “He, um, was telling me he'd never heard of the absinthe distillery you went to. Anastasia.”

Daehyun's expression thaws into a questioning frown as he reclines into the chair. Youngjae emits a weary breath and meekly shares, “I was telling him he probably overlooked it since you've been there twice but he seemed really certain about it.”

Beat. Daehyun crosses his arms over his brawny chest and the skinned look etched into his pupils does not subside. 

“And?”

The sole, caustic syllable lingers pertinently in the stillness as Daehyun keeps his stare trained on his boyfriend, lips now wrenched into thin line. Youngjae places down his chopsticks and rubs the back of his neck, remarking dismissively, “It's no big deal. I was... just wondering why he couldn't find it.”

He resumes eating, palate dribbling into faint dust with Daehyun never faltering from his hard gaze. It takes seven counts for Daehyun to collapse the wordlessness with a hefty sigh, pivoting his head away in faint annoyance.

“It hasn't been marketed to the public yet.”

“Oh, it hasn't?” Youngjae echoes nonchalantly as he finishes up his meal. 

Daehyun's voice shrivels into a sharper tone, another weighty sigh grating through his teeth. “Yeah. The distillery owner, thought it best to see if she could attract any business partners before producing her absinthe in bulk.” 

Youngjae nods with a hum as he nibbles on the last few slices of braised meat. They say nothing for a minute or so as Daehyun evidently wallows in thought, blatantly miffed. As Youngjae places down his chopsticks, he debates on pacifying Daehyun when the latter speaks.

“It... feels like you don't trust me,” Daehyun heaves, his neatly cut nails clacking against the glass surface. The forlornness warps his withered exhale, Youngjae widening his eyes in response.

“Daehyun, I didn't mean that,” Youngjae hurriedly clarifies. “I was just asking. I mean, I guess I got worried a little because you took a long to come back both times.”

Daehyun lifts his head and the moment his abysmal, onyx pupils meet with Youngjae's, a tense, knowing silence wraps around the conversation. The air bleeds out into another voluminous tension and Daehyun rises from his seat, slinking out to the living room. He rummages through one of the drawers beside the display cabinet and retrieves an item, stepping back into the adjacent dining room.

He prods over a red velvet cushioned box, fluttering his lashes. Youngjae gingerly picks it up and pops it open, revealing two scintillating silver rings polished to a prim impeccability. Underneath the mild afternoon rays, the diamond-studded infinity signs shimmer with a copious brilliance, leaving Youngjae momentarily wordless.

“After I went to finish things up once and for all with the distillery owner, I went to buy us promise rings, which was why it took a while,” Daehyun breathes, Youngjae's regretful gaze flickering over to the downcast man. “You said you'd wait for me to open up as long as it takes so I wanted to make it a point that I'd always be by your side as well.”

“Daehyun...” Remorse crunches up against Youngjae's windpipe and he gets up from his seat, Daehyun swivelling around and padding away. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to doubt you.”

The insinuations of his questioning have already done its damage, however, Daehyun barely making eye contact with the other. He swipes his wallet and phone off the counter and weaves a hand through his hair, emanating a stale wheeze. Youngjae tails behind hastily as Daehyun strides to the door, spinning around at the last moment and tenderly cupping Youngjae's cheek. He seals their lips sweetly, disappointment mapping his leaden eyes as he churns out a bleak smile.

“I'm sorry. I need to be alone for a while.” Daehyun thumbs the bartender's cheek and conclusively lets go, sauntering out the house. Daehyun's warmth ebbs away from Youngjae's skin as the door clicks shut, Youngjae's shoulders falling.

Quietness stacks against the brimming afternoon as Youngjae curls up on the couch, a hefty weight churning in his guts. He did not mean to suspect Daehyun. After all that has recently happened, the lack of trust he has in Daehyun is starting to manifest pertinently. His mind inevitably rewinds back to their time in Singapore where he had been so rattled by Daehyun's drunk spiel he phoned Himchan for help. To suspect his own boyfriend for something so ludicrous like murder crudely shows how much faith Youngjae has in Daehyun. Just a while ago, he had given Daehyun the wrong impression that he didn't want him to meet his parents because he was ashamed of him.

This is the only serious relationship Daehyun has had after his first love passed on. With his rocky past crumpled against so many deep-seated agonies, the least Youngjae can do is give Daehyun the faith that he needs to gradually unveil his past to him.

He has to fix this. Youngjae trudges back to the dining table and grasps the ring box, placing it on the bedside table. He lets out a soft breath and waits for Daehyun to return.

The one o'clock blaze of uneven refraction and stuffy humidity bleeds away into the evening, rose hue dissolving into the glass windows. As Youngjae finishes stir-frying the duck meat, he perks up at the sound of the door unlocking, swiftly washing his hands and heading for the entrance.

Daehyun paces in, shoes tapping against the porcelain tiles as his gaze lands on Youngjae. The latter unsurely approaches Daehyun and the latter's lips quirk, tinge of fatigue lining his irises. He brushes his fingers over Youngjae's cheek and takes in a deep whiff, brow raising in intrigue.

"Did you cook dinner?"

Youngjae nods lightly, Daehyun grazing his lips over the other's nose and ambling to the dining room. As Youngjae serves an array of home-cooked dishes he'd learnt from his sister Inna back when they were younger, Daehyun simmers into a pleasantly surprised grin.

"Wow, it looks great," Daehyun hums, rident expression jarred with a subtle austereness dabbing his countenance. Youngjae bites back a low sigh and returns the smile, the two dining in a cumbersome atmosphere.

Night unfurls in a burst of autumnal breeze and the lengthy dreariness standing on its tiptoes, Youngjae perched on the fringe of their bed in wait. Daehyun eventually emerges from the bathroom with a towel rung over his neck, perking up at Youngjae's presence.

"Can we talk?" Youngjae starts softly.

Daehyun blinks at him before acquiescing belatedly, settling down by Youngjae's side. Youngjae inhales deeply and gently touches Daehyun's crinkled hand.

"I'm sorry for doubting you. I really did think Jackson made some sort of mistake but I was afraid," Youngjae mumbles, fingers intertwining with Daehyun's. "I knew I was being paranoid so I didn't want to ask you."

"Honestly, when you left during our trip... I felt a little sad because it felt like I'd been abandoned. Plus, I was already feeling distant when you didn't tell me straight you were out burning joss paper that night," his voice wanes into a contrite whisper, fragmenting their eye contact. "So hearing what Jackson said, I couldn't help harping over it."

"I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean to lie to me that time. Till now, I still don't know what you see in me, and I'm always worried I'll lose you." Youngjae glimpses up at Daehyun and blinks at the soft smile drawn over Daehyun's chapped lips. Daehyun's knobbly fingers creep over his hand and he leans forward to brush their noses sweetly.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Daehyun begins, snugly interlocking their hands. "I know you didn't mean it that way, but... it just hurt, you know? It felt like you trusted him more than me." 

He inclines forward and presses their foreheads together, their eyes comically crossing as Daehyun's eyes crinkle like the folds of an espresso martini under a Christmas dream. "I love you more than you can ever imagine. I know I've had a lot of flings but you're someone I'm definitely not willing to let go, even till the end of eternity."

Youngjae rolls his eyes, amusement melted into his watery smile. Daehyun chuckles warmly and it seems like the ambience dawdles into candles by the seaside and clinks of tulip glasses. Perhaps more like the casual twist of mint leaves drenched in a midnight Mojito. 

"I'm sorry you have to deal with all of this," Daehyun continues delicately. "I'm trying my best but after what happened, I can't help but be scared. I won't lie again. It's just that... now that I've fallen in love again, how will I go on if you leave me?"

"I won't leave you," Youngjae assures without hesitation, capturing Daehyun's lips apace. "I said I'll wait no matter how long it takes for you to open up, Daehyun, and I mean it. I won't doubt you ever again." His tone curtails into an earnest bashfulness. "I love you, Daehyun. So, so much."

Daehyun's lips curls in a honeyed contentment as he pecks Youngjae's cheek. "Thank you, Youngjae. I'm blessed to have someone as understanding as you." His smile smoulders into a tantalising smile, rough fingertips snaking over Youngjae's thigh. 

"How about you show me exactly how much you love me?" Daehyun teases, receding out of precaution. His eyes promptly enlarge when Youngjae pushes him down onto the mattress, coyly straddling the startled man. Daehyun lets go of a guttural, belly laugh, Youngjae enticingly gyrating his behind over Daehyun's groin.

The couple indulge in a trimmed night of lovelorn stares and Youngjae's shy ministrations, Daehyun ogling brazenly as he palms Youngjae's crotch through his shorts. The peak of the night brims under the curl of an azure cigarette burn, Youngjae carefully sliding Daehyun's length into his hole. He grips Daehyun's shoulders as he lowers himself, Daehyun's thick girth filling him up and running over his raw walls.

He emits a shaky breath before experimentally moving his hips, angling himself back so Daehyun's member meets his prostate. His fingers clenches on Daehyun's muscles when he manages to hit his sweet spot, ecstasy blooming in his lower regions. The acute yearning for pleasure soon has the man fervently sliding himself up and down Daehyun's rod, moans strained against his throat. A billow of lust obfuscates Daehyun's irises and he grabs Youngjae's hips tight, letting go of his self-restraint and thrusting up into Youngjae.

The shudders of thumping pleasure gradually deluges the pair, Daehyun lugging Youngjae down to fiercely lock their lips. With how aggressive Daehyun's pounding is, Youngjae finds himself at the brink of his orgasm, his lower lip trembling from the head-numbing sensation. He finally spills white onto both his and Daehyun's skin with a sharp whimper, Daehyun having slammed himself up particularly hard. More cum spurts from his erection as Daehyun persists in his furious thrusting, hands squeezing Youngjae's behind so roughly his handprints have blossomed against Youngjae's pale skin.

Eventually, Daehyun follows behind, orgasming from the tightness clenching relentlessly down on his member. He fills Youngjae up with an intoxicating wet warmth and pumps Youngjae's length a few more times, cupping Youngjae's cheek and chuckling lowly at the dazed look now embedded into the man's unfocused eyes. He helps Youngjae off, teasingly pressing a finger to Youngjae's closing hole before scooping his boyfriend into his arms.

"I love you," he purrs beside Youngjae's ear, drawing circles into Youngjae's tummy as sleep begins to coax Youngjae's eyes shut. "Let's never fight again, okay? I want our days together to only be happy."

"Mm," Youngjae whispers, blinking tiredly as Daehyun extends his arm over and picks up the ring box on the bedside table. He pulls one out and finds Youngjae's left hand under the sheets, gently slipping the ring onto his finger. 

"We'll always be there for each other, through thick and thin," Daehyun breathes into the edge of Youngjae's skin.

Youngjae props himself up and admires the glimmering dazzle along his ring, a smile melting over his swollen lips. He takes the other ring, lifting Daehyun's pinky and putting it on for him. "For better or for worse," he adds, guiding Daehyun's face towards him. They share a saccharine kiss and Daehyun tucks them in, hand winding securely around Youngjae's hips.

Between the moments of lethargic wakefulness and relaxing sleep, Youngjae thinks of sweet happy ever afters and Prince Charming sitting by the bar, perhaps in the slouched form of a man named Jung Daehyun.

  
\--

  
Under the bleeding lights of an andante song, Cosmopolitan once again pieces together yet another night of divine catharsis. An iridescence of glossy auroras, smithereens of rhythmic blues and the taps of leather shoes—reeking of nothing but the rich. The world exists differently in a realm of ambrosial cocktails, where the veil is drawn on the rapid city pace and time is carved from the tempo of one's sips.

Returning to the bar has been more than welcomed for Youngjae. While he crafted out the mix of whiskey and sweet vermouth a few hours ago (building Manhattan underneath his fingertips), he wondered if the bar was a getaway for those who brimmed with wanderlust but could not escape. Culture within a glass can suffice for a stressful night, especially for many who repetitively indulge in tropical cocktails like a Mai Tai or a Piña Colada.

Conversations are infrequent as usual, though there have been more than several who sat by the bar silently. It was a little disconcerting to watch them. They do nothing but stare into space with a glass of Chardonnay in one hand, like their drooping skin will melt off into rotten peels at any moment.

Jongup is smiling and nodding along as the group of elderly women chatter languidly, shadowy eyes kindly latched onto the young waiter. There is one middle-aged man sitting alone at the curled booth, thumbing through the laminated menu. He places it down after a while and scours the place, eyes meeting Youngjae's for a second. His lips quirk slowly and he turns to Himchan just as the server briskly paces over.

They speak for a moment before the man rises with some effort. Himchan escorts him to the bar and the client's sheepish smile twinkles as he settles down in a seat.

"Hello," he greets with a soft sigh, eyes barren with a distinct tiredness despite his earnest simper. "Can I get an Kir Royale? A little bit more on the sweet side."

"Of course, sir," Youngjae returns. He instinctively moves to grab the crème de cassis and plucks a polished champagne flute from the tray. The burgundy liqueur smoothly slithers into the glass, Youngjae gently topping it up with champagne, careful not to let the drink foam as misty maroon fogs up to the brink. A passionate bloom of sparkling vermilion bubbles within and Youngjae traces the rim with a dab of lemon, curling up the twist by the edge.

The patron tugs his crisp, cold cocktail towards him with a small grin, slurping it up and smacking his tongue at the dryness. "Think you could recommend me a restaurant to get dinner at after this?"

"Zech Brooklys seems rather popular nowadays," Youngjae offers, stacking back the weighty bottles. "I heard their spaghetti is really good. It's only five blocks away."  
     
"Well, I have been craving a creamy dish lately," the customer muses in thought, nodding in contentment. "Thank you. I'll swing by there later."

Silence eases into a blurred repose as the man slowly blinks, dusk soaking the underneath of his eyes. It seems as though the conversation will shrivel out like with every other lone patron that had visited recently, but the man releases a lengthy exhale and draws up a painstaking smile.

"Sorry," he starts in the same defeated tone, fatigue stamped into his sluggish motions. "I hope you don't mind. I... actually popped by so I could have a little chat." His diffident smile recurs, swirling his drink lightly.

"When I'm alone for too long, I get a little..." The customer's words drift off under his breath into an awkward chuckle. He raises his cocktail at this point and beams, "Lovely drink."

"Don't worry about it. And thank you," Youngjae answers, swiftly casting the patron a comforting smile. "You're stopping by for a quick aperitif before your dinner appointment, sir?"

The customer's lips curl upon hearing Youngjae's lively response. He sips at his drink and provides, "Yeah, but I'm not in a rush. Eating alone." He puts out a pale, scrawny hand and cordially introduces himself. "Jung Yunho."

Youngjae shakes his hand and replies amiably, "Yoo Youngjae. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Yunho unwinds against the seat as a warm, relaxed mien visibly emerges along his crinkled cheeks. He rubs at his eyes and cups his mouth when a yawn escapes him. "I haven't been sleeping well these few weeks," he laments, slash of tears pooling along his thin lashes. "I keep waking up in the middle of the night."

"Insomnia?" Youngjae fills in. Yunho prods a knuckle to his lips as he scrunches up his nose in contemplation.

"Not exactly. I went to get it checked out and they said it wasn't completely insomnia," Yunho heaves with a wry simper. "I don't have any trouble falling asleep, nor do I have problems with falling back asleep when I wake up."

"Oh... Have the doctors given anything to help?" Youngjae queries, Yunho seizing a gulp of his Kir Royale and revelling in the flavour blotching his tongue.

Yunho conclusively shakes his head, flicking his index finger at the stem of the champagne flute. Evidently pleased at the faint tinkle he sparks, he supplies, "Not much. But it was my choice, to be truthful. They were saying it was likely because of stress but I'm really not keen on seeing another one of those shrinks."

"The way they look at you... It's as if they're digging into your soul." Yunho shudders in irk, eliciting a light chortle in Youngjae. "Anyway, I kind of already know what's bothering me—and I'd rather not talk about it to a psychologist."

He taps on the side of his temple and shakes his head, providing casually, "I think so loud it keeps waking me up." Picking up the lemon zest, he uses the tip to prod the meniscus of his cocktail.

"If... the stream is a dream, then I am on a boat, just on the very surface," Yunho wheezes quietly, stirring his drink ever so slightly. "When I awake, it feels like I simply plopped off the boat onto shore."

He lets go of the rumpled twist and fragments out a shy grin. "Sorry. Sudden muse." He clips the foot of the glass and tugs his thin lips to the side. "Life of a pretentious lyricist."

"That was poetic," Youngjae genuinely compliments, Yunho pressing back a chuckle. "You're a lyricist?"

"Mm. Composer, producer, all that. It makes a lot of money, surprisingly." He emanates a fine exhale and gently pats his eyes. "My nights now seem like I was never asleep. Sometimes, I think so loud I can still hear myself yelling in my mind when I awake. It's very distressing, if I do say so myself."

Youngjae debates shortly on what to say, fingers coiling underneath the bar. Upon seeing the bartender's dilemmic countenance, Yunho promptly apologises, "I'm sorry. I must have put you in a spot. You don't have to say anything."

Smoke curls within Yunho's tousled hair, yellowing teeth crushed against the remnants of tobacco ashes and crackling sparks. There's grime littering the cuticles of his nails, two fingers gently clipping the stem of the glass. He utters with a slight cough, "Did you hear? They're planning to revise the statute of limitations."

"Yeah. They lengthened it from 15 years to 25 years just a few years ago, didn't they?" Youngjae ascertains, Yunho returning a nod.

"Mm. They had to, honestly. The public didn't take it well that the statute of limitations for the Hwaseong serial killings expired. " Yunho laments between sips of his drink. "Shame the revision wasn't retroactive. I hope Korea one day removes the time limit on prosecuting serious crimes."

"It's something they should have implemented by now, huh?" Youngjae notes. Yunho smacks his lips as crimson cuts into the threshold of his mouth. 

From across the bar, Himchan signals for three martinis, Youngjae instantaneously retrieving the gin and dry vermouth. He swipes the chilled glasses and effortlessly frames a viscous transparency within the mixing glass. Himchan pads over and gathers the cocktails, fingering out several coasters and ambling away.

"Imagine how the loved ones of those victims are holding out now," Yunho wheezes, five feet thoughts brooding along his wilted syllables. "To think that sick bastard is still somewhere out there, having gotten away scott-free..."

Yunho clicks his tongue, eyes blatantly narrowing into slits. He crosses one leg over the other and brings up, tone relaxing. "Do you believe in karma?"

"Not really," Youngjae replies truthfully, rinsing several glasses and putting them aside neatly. Hana strolls over, vanishing into the back before emerging with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

"It'd be nice if it exists, hm?" Yunho sighs, simmering into a simper when Hana coyly beams at him. "Then, all these heinous criminals would get their just desserts in their afterlife."

"Yeah. It's comforting, knowing they won't be able to escape no matter what," Youngjae concludes in thought. Yunho downs the last of his sumptuous rose drink, lush sweetness subtly diffusing into the fibre of his taste buds. He prods over his flute.

"Barolo, please."

Their words waltz to the pulse of modest cadences. Decanting the red wine with a precise finesse, Youngjae serves Elio Altare in a new glass, cardinal once more besmirching Yunho's lips.

"Thank you." He graciously savours his beverage, ruminating momentarily. "It's how we cope, hm? All this talk about heaven and hell the world seems to dance around... God is really just a coping mechanism at the end of it all."

"It's harsh, but true," Youngjae supplies in agreement. "People believe in these sort of things to make themselves feel better—from an objective point of view."

"That's true," Yunho muses, bringing the glass to his lips and delighting in the astringent tannin of his wine. "For those unsolved murders, it's gut-wrenching to know that's the end of it. The victims passed on writhing in fear just like that—with not a crumb of justification. What's more horrible is that their killers will never pay for what they did."

"The law's often at the mercy of these criminals," Youngjae remarks in contemplation. "The world's cruel and unfair. It's a fact not many can come to terms with."

He runs the rag over the fringe of the sink, letting out a sigh. "It's a consolation to put our faith in an almighty God. Someone who's able to punish all bad people after death."

Satisfaction brims along Yunho's minuscule smile, regarding the bartender with a pleased look. "That's what we humans do, hm? We wrap ourselves up in illusions and indulge in fantasies to hide away from the harsh reality of things." 

He halts to imbibe his wine as the atmosphere slithers upon his thin frame. Morsels of conversation drift apart as the two by the bar bide in long reflection. Yunho adds in a hoarse voice, "It's always nicer to think our loved ones who have gone are in a better place, and that an omnipotent being is constantly watching over us."

"Divine intervention," Youngjae includes with a light smile. Yunho chuckles along in amity.

"For some, God's even a scapegoat. They lay blame conveniently on the mute and pin their mistakes as God's doings," Yunho finishes, swirling the heeltap lingering at the bottom of his glass. He once more rubs at his dry eyes, instinctive gesture of his fingers to his lips indicating more so that he is a habitual smoker.

"Are you religious, sir?" Youngjae questions, cheeky smile adorning his defined cheeks. Yunho arches a brow back and chortles, "It's going to come as a surprise but I do fancy having a faith every now and then."

"Religions are... rather like casino games, don't you think? Some even come with rulebooks," he jests. "If all I've got to put in is my faith, I've much more to earn than to lose." 

"I don't think that really counts as believing," Youngjae chuckles, refilling Yunho's glass when the patron tilts it over. "[Pascal didn't factor the sanctity of faith into his wager.](http://rationalwiki.org/wiki/Pascal%27s_wager)"

"Ah, I know that one. Can't argue with that." The middle-aged client glances past the prim circumference of his glass and melts into a wisp of a smile. "Hm, what about you, then? A lot of youngsters nowadays identify themselves as freethinkers, so I've heard."

Into eight o'clock blues and the tip tap of high heels, the lengthy conversation glissades past the beating nightfall. Letting out another hearty guffaw, Yunho glimpses to his watch and finishes his last drink with a light breath.

"I better get a move on. My empty stomach won't hold out any longer with so much alcohol." His thin lips quirk lightheartedly and he exhales, "It was a very nice chat we had, Youngjae."

"Pleasure's all mine, sir," Youngjae smoothly answers, Yunho gliding his empty glass over with a pleased grin. He pats his cardigan several times before sieving out a business card from his pocket.

"Say, if you're ever looking for a job in the music industry, give me a call. It's hard to find kids nowadays who are both beauty and brains. Always gives me a heart attack when I send them out for interviews and talk shows." He opens up his wallet and prods over a hundred dollar bill as well, humming gladly, "Here's a little something for lifting my spirits."

Widening his eyes at the crumpled note, Youngjae scoots the cash back and rebounds hurriedly, "Sir, there's really no need. Thank you for the thought."

"Take it." Yunho casually waves his hand, rising from his seat and buttoning up his coat. He sends Youngjae a wholehearted smile and bids, "Well, it's time for me to take my leave. See you some other time, Youngjae."

"Have a good night, sir," Youngjae calls after, still flabbergasted by the amount of money he'd been handed. When he worked as a bartender at his previous job, he rarely received any tips since the culture was largely absent amongst the people. Having ascended to Cosmopolitan, he took rather hefty shared tips occasionally of extravagant forties and fifties—but this is excessive.

As the day rolls into an ironic close hours past the crack of midnight, Cosmopolitan's light sizzle out into an engulfing darkness, splendour shut off till the next sunset. The down-to-earth chatter of the staff withers away as they part ways, Junhong cutely waving goodbye from the back of Yongguk's SUV.

Loitering by the curb with Jongup, Youngjae fondly watches as the sleepy boy tiredly flutters his lashes, attempting once in a while to offer a toothy smile. Time and time again, Youngjae has wondered why someone of Jongup's age would be working at a high-end bar in the clusters of flashy Gangnam, but it is a story no one can pin down besides conjuring up the usual speculation.

It's lovely to see Jongup retain majority of his innocent and rather clueless disposition despite his murky circumstances. Though, he does seem smarter than what the rest give him credit for, especially Himchan who has a keen inclination to cosset Jongup. Amusing as it is, Jongup has been rebelling every now and then when Himchan attempts to suffocate the life out of him in public.

Flickering his gaze up to the brooding dusk, Youngjae's mind drifts off to his boyfriend. Three hours ago, Daehyun had flown off to Jeju for a private meeting with one of Cosmopolitan's major stockholders, due to return home five days later. He had momentarily stolen Youngjae away from the bar and kissed him senseless alongside the hurtling glitter throng and branded swing of purses, fervent hands clasped around the bartender's small face.

He had insisted on seeing Daehyun off but the bar manager had refused, simply caressing the fibre of Youngjae's glossed lips.

Himchan's familiar vehicle pulls up by the sidewalk, Jongup instinctively plopping into the backseat and Youngjae sitting up front.

"You know, I'm capable of taking the bus on my own," Youngjae remarks as he fastens his seatbelt. 

"Yeah, but Daehyun won't let you do that. Won't let me let you do that, to be more specific," Himchan returns with ease, smoothly making a U-turn. He briefly glimpses into the grimy rear view mirror and calls, "You can lie down and sleep if you want, Jongup."

The tipsy boy startles awake momentarily and belatedly processes Himchan's words, murmuring incoherently as he curls up in the backseat. Himchan lets out a contented exhale and sends Youngjae a smile.

"How about you stay over at our place for tonight? Could save Jongup the uncomfortable nap and me some time." Himchan's words splash with a light humour as he suggestively wriggles a brow.

"I don't mind," Youngjae answers smoothly, Himchan flashing a mischievous grin.

"Wow, seriously?" Upon receiving an unflinching nod, Himchan hums a mirthful tune, steering down the expressway. "Guess without Daehyun around, you're a little more wild."

"Hey, I'm not sleeping with you, if that's what you got out of my answer," Youngjae chuckles. "I'm just enjoying my rare chance of freedom."

"I'm telling on you when Daehyun gets back," Himchan warns with a snicker. As Gangnam moulds into residential areas and dim tungsten lights, the trio lounge in a tender quietness. Himchan gets Youngjae to toss a blanket over Jongup halfway to their destination, the comatose boy lolling off the seats.

In half an hour or so, they wind into Himchan's condominium, exterior relatively modern and polished. Upon noticing Youngjae's surprised mien, he provides, "Daehyun isn't too stingy with my salary, you know. Besides, the customers tip me a hell lot for entertaining them."

"Wow. I know Daehyun pays well with the business doing good but this estate doesn't look cheap," Youngjae murmurs distractedly, leaning out to survey the prim facilities. "You're so young too."

"I'm still paying off the mortgage, Jae. And my parents helped me out with the down payment," Himchan guffaws, dishevelling Youngjae's hair. He deliberates for a while before concluding in an amusedly enlightened tone, "You're right; I am young. I've just been hanging out with you kids too much."

Jongup stumbles out the car woozily and heads up together with Youngjae, Himchan cruising off to park his car. Himchan's unit is not too large, neatly furnished with dainty and simple furniture. Jongup politely gets Youngjae a cup of tea and eventually turns in when Youngjae convinces him to.

"Not too shabby, hm?" Himchan shoots Youngjae a smirk as he locks the door behind him, stretching his arms. He first swings into Jongup's room to check on the sleeping boy and then indolently sprawls out on the navy blue couch by Youngjae's side, grabbing the remote and flicking through several channels.

"Wanna eat some instant ramen?" Himchan snivels, brashly letting out a yawn after several minutes. He lugs himself off the sofa and Youngjae smothers back a laugh upon catching Himchan scratch his behind. Himchan may reek of only the utmost striking charisma at work, allure so classy he assimilates seamlessly into the crowd he serves, yet that facade of his exists only within the four pillars of Cosmopolitan.

They settle on the floor against the couch, putting on a local comedy from the seventies composed of crude jokes and slapstick humour. Spice warmly pricks at their lips, Himchan lowering the volume in case it wakes Jongup.

"Has Daehyun called you?" Himchan asks offhandedly between bites. Youngjae returns a hum, about to speak when Himchan tugs over his pinky in awe.

"Seriously, how many carat is that?" He ogles at the promise ring, clicking his tongue. "It's an apology gift, isn't it?"

"Sort of. How'd you know?" Youngjae chortles. Daehyun has been especially spoiling Youngjae after the few mishaps during their vacation, splurging on refined glassware and glitter accessories as presents.

"Men are all the same. Daehyun specifically," Himchan reasons airily. He slurps up his noodles and blathers, "His idea of saying sorry is to spend, spend, spend."

"That's true. Every time we fight, he buys me gifts the next day," Youngjae muses lightly, a bittersweet smile crawling across his swollen lips. "I've told him again and again he doesn't need to but he still does it."

Notably, whenever Youngjae brings up Daehyun's alcoholism and Daehyun gets upset at him, Youngjae often wakes up to bouquets of ivy arrangements and lavish necklaces by the bedside table the next day. Daehyun will be eccentrically clingy as well, attaching himself to Youngjae to the point they can nearly be considered conjoined at the hip.

"Well, I guess he's used to it," Himchan remarks thoughtfully. "He's never been in this sort of relationship before."

Youngjae taps his chopsticks against the rim of his bowl. "You mean with a guy?"

"No. Like, a normal relationship. I've told you before, right? That Daehyun changed a lot of girlfriends before you." Himchan stirs his soup and recounts with a sigh, "He always went for the big spenders."

"Why?" Youngjae quizzically returns.

Himchan purses his lips and shrugs. "Don't know. Maybe 'cause they reminded him of his first." Leaning back against the cushions, Himchan notes, "Pretty much the only thing Daehyun knows is money. It's the one thing he's sure of that can win people over."

"He doesn't need to win me over," Youngjae heaves more to himself than to Himchan, frown clambering over his mien. Himchan lowly laughs and squeezes Youngjae's shoulder.

"It's a good thing that he's trying to, Youngjae. Shows that he's afraid of losing you." He wolfs down his noodles and soup splatters against Youngjae's face, the bartender grimacing in irk.

"More like he's afraid of facing my wrath."

Himchan brims with a vivid cackle, simmering into a quietness of cliched gunshots trumpeting from the television. He picks at the remnants of his preserved radish and mentions, "I'm kind of surprised that you guys do argue now and then. You two always seem like the perfect, happy couple."

"Those don't exist," Youngjae replies with a hushed chuckle. "Honestly, we don't fight a lot. It's mostly over the same thing—that Daehyun drinks too much."

Himchan crumples his lips to the side pensively. "You have a point. I got so used to seeing him chugging down absinthe I stopped seeing it as a problem."

"Even at home, he can't put down his absinthe. It's no wonder he's built up such a strong alcohol tolerance," Youngjae expels a thin breath. "I've been trying to get him to quit it but he loves it so much."

"Give him more time," Himchan placates as he clasps Youngjae's knee. "It's hard for him to let go since it's sentimental to him."

Youngjae flits his lashes and softly questions, "Is it related to Sunhwa?"

After a reluctant beat, Himchan gingerly nods. "Yeah. Her favourite drink."

The words bleed into Youngjae's palm as his fingers curl feebly, the bartender emanating an inaudible breath. He has promised both Daehyun and himself that he would be understanding with Daehyun's heartbreaking predicament is. But, at times like these, he can never efface the stubborn gossip in the recesses of his ribcage—those which say he will permanently wear the silhouette of Daehyun's first love, as a poor substitute for a dream girl whose glass slippers he can never fill. That perhaps, Daehyun had no choice but to settle for less.

"Daehyun really loves her, hm?" Youngjae breathes lightly, prodding aside his empty bowl. 

"Even now, there's so many things he does that lead back to her, one way or another."

The faintness in his disheartened voice does not go unnoticed as Himchan scoots over with a chesty sigh.

"Youngjae," Himchan starts after a momentary silence. He slides an arm around the other and glances at him with earnest eyes. "Memories are tough to get over. Don't let it get you down."

"There was this customer who was talking to you for really long today, right?" Himchan brings up, dissolving into a peal of laughter. "You know, Daehyun was watching you from his office. You should have seen his face when I suddenly barged in."

"That idiot," Youngjae stifles back a chuckle, warmth brewing over his cheeks. "Isn't he always watching what's going on, though? That's what the one-way mirror is for."

"He wouldn't have jumped if he was just observing as usual. And remember? He almost always leaves at that time to do his whatever paperwork at home—also known as slacking," Himchan sniggers. He melts into a consoling smile and reminisces, "You weren't there last time so you wouldn't know, but the way Daehyun loves you is different from how he loved Sunhwa. Hana and I were just talking about it the other day."

"Is that a bad thing?" Youngjae asks softly.

"Far from it," Himchan snorts. "With Sunhwa, he was always looking to please her. He wanted her so he let her do anything she wanted to him, just to keep her happy. I don't even know where to start with the fucked up shit she did. Stealing, cheating, lying—Daehyun turned a blind eye to all of it because he wanted her like mad."

"When it comes to you, however," Himchan inserts a dramatic pause, lips coiling into a cheshire-like smile, "it's different. Have you seen the way he stares whenever some rich person sits by the bar and chats with you? It's anxiety. Not blindness. He's scared of losing you."

"There's a big difference between wanting someone and needing someone, Jae." Himchan tangles a hand through Youngjae's hair and rises from the floor, tossing away the empty ramen cups. Himchan's words dawdle in the drowsy fever of diffused dawn and dusk as Youngjae ruminates.

"By the way, that guy today looked really into you. You're a charmer, Yoo Youngjae. A natural one," Himchan announces as he returns, smile sly. "I'm jealous."

"He just wanted someone to talk to," Youngjae dismisses with a light laugh. "And you're exaggerating, Himchan. There are lots of customers who don't like me. Remember that lady last week who threatened to get me fired because I couldn't figure out what she wanted? Only you could calm her down. She was practically head over heels in love with you."

"Oh god, don't remind me. She was a god damn nightmare."

They talk of many things that night, between Youngjae's slurring and Himchan's boisterous, nasal chortles. Youngjae dwells in the lovable rawness of their conversation and falls asleep to the echo of Daehyun's soothing, well-arranged voice.

  
\--

  
For Prince Jung Daehyun, every night was a lovely reverie encased within the silver walls of powder fragments and Tinkerbell's fairy dust. Time ceased to exist in an intoxicating realm of make-believe no more and eleven-eleven wishes come true, where he eternally clasped the divine hand of Her Excellency (veins jade bangles dismembered into her blood).

Thus, the Prince deliriously scraped out snow from emerald bills, plastering the oasis of a winter wonderland against the refraction of bloodthirsty summer heat. He decreed the Sandman to craft out a seamless December dream so he would never hear the clang of lethal midnight. Of course, this snow was composed of PCP and methamphetamine, but what did it matter when he could stop time?

Prince Charming waltzed to an erratic tempo with dear Cinderella while cherished hail exploded in strips of confetti. For a lengthy year, the Prince's dilated eyes shone with happiness (blood scribbled into the paste of white) and he danced forever to the non-existent time of presto medleys.

Eventually, even as the Sandman cemented the Prince's eyelids together with filthy nails and cluttered sedatives, Daehyun awoke to a terrifying shatter. The clock struck twelve and Cinderella collapsed into anorexic bones and ghastly convulsions, her chalice smashing into smithereens on the floor. The green of her absinthe mingled inexorably with the spatter of her ruby blood and masticated every splinter of red out of sight. Cinderella dispersed into nothing but astral dust as the curtains fell, Daehyun weeping piteously into the hollow remnants of cracked glass and emerald blood.

Wrought with immense grief in the barren, desolate wonderland, the Prince drowned in denial that the love of his life crumbled into a deplorable demise. He gathered the lustrous fragments of what his princess venerated as her holy grail—the glass of absinthe, her glossy stairway to an illusory utopia where she reigned as a peerless queen—and set out to seek his Cinderella.

He rounded up lines of posh aristocrats and bid them put the broken glass to their lips, only to slit crimson blood and battered blues of tears from them. They were all mere imposters. As he futilely pursued only the finest green blood to prove his queen consort still breathed, the hideous, macabre reality unraveled itself into the persistent red the Prince accumulated: No one would ever fit the glass. 

It hurt. And so, Prince Jung Daehyun mournfully shut his eyes and delved into an endless absinthe derangement, his personal elixir, and turned away from it all.

"Did you wait long?" A euphonious voice twists into the atmosphere and a light touch falls upon Youngjae's elbow, Hyosung mischievously clinging onto Youngjae's arm. Downtown Seoul pieces in the balmy days of orchid fall as Youngjae offers a light laugh. Clothed in a plain T-shirt and her beryl tinsel of her customary eyeshadow, Hyosung sports a carefree, sweet-tempered charm.

"I didn't. You look really pretty with your hair up," Youngjae compliments, Hyosung simmering into a cute smile. 

"You always know what to say, Youngjae." Prodding at her loose hair bun, she nestles herself into Youngjae's lean bicep and cajoles, "This feels so nice. It's like I have a boyfriend. Daehyun should go on his business trips more often."

"You're single?" Youngjae questions in surprise, allowing Hyosung to zealously lug him towards the café. They have gone out with the other staff several times for dinners and whatnot but never alone—mostly because no one had the stark audacity to ask Daehyun's boyfriend out on a solo date.

"Are you doing it on purpose?" Hyosung pesters, light canvas shoes padding against the stinging asphalt. "Yeah, I am. Have been for two years."

As their summery conversation of tepid paint and laidback simpers, they prod open the door to the modest café, tinkle of vintage brass bells waning into the distance. They settle down at an empty table after ordering their drinks amid the mellow chit-chat.

"Now that Daehyun's away, you must be enjoying yourself, hm?" Hyosung begins, sipping at her frappe. "Must be a pain in the ass with him sticking to you all the time." She wriggles her eyebrows and whispers, "Literally."

Glaring playfully across the table, Hyosung squeaks when Youngjae nudges her shoe. "I kind of miss it, actually," he admits with a sheepish chuckle, ghost of Daehyun's silhouette over his skin. "I've got nothing to do nowadays."

"Come on, you should be seizing the chance! Go clubbing with your friends! Watch some movies, visit family," Hyosung persuades avidly, patting Youngjae's wrist. "You're not going to have as much time to when your hubby gets back."

"Even when he's in Seoul, I've got too much time on my hands," Youngjae chuckles, gaze roaming about the coffee shop. "I don't know what to do without him around."

"That's because you've dedicated too much of your time to your relationship," Hyosung points out with a wag of her finger. "I'm telling you to seize the chance. You should really spend more time with your family and friends before mister possessive, clingy freak comes back."

"I'm doing so now, aren't I?" Youngjae laughs, stirring his latte slowly. "I've only got Daehyun and you guys, so I'm not missing out on much, really."

The air falters with the impervious bistro ambience, Hyosung wordlessly eyeing Youngjae with an undertone of consternation. "What about your family and other friends?"

Hastily, Youngjae clarifies, "I mean, they're just busy so I can't really hang out with them. That's all."

"You said you were in college before this job, right?" Hyosung questions and puckers her lips. "Isn't it the holidays now for university students?"

Youngjae flutters his lashes and ultimately shrugs, discomfort instinctively brewing in the brink of his guts. "Honestly, I... lost contact with a lot of my friends after taking up the job," he concludes with a bashful, minuscule smile.

"What about you?" He promptly raises in an effort to veer the conversation away. "What were you doing before you started working at Cosmopolitan?"

Hyosung tilts her head one side and rolls in her lips, thumping an offhanded tempo against the granite table. "You're a little secretive, aren't you, Youngjae?" Hyosung teases, prodding Youngjae in the arm. She thumbs her lips and chirps, "Well, I was a waitress at this Chinese restaurant before Cosmopolitan. It was a two-week gig; I got fired after they found out I faked that I knew Chinese."

"How'd you even lasted that long?" Youngjae gapes in disbelief, Hyosung wiggling her eyebrows foxily.

"You'd be shocked when you hear just how many things I've gotten away with." She inclines forward and divulges sotto voce, "I used to steal clothes all the time. In fact, this shirt's stolen." She pauses to gesture surreptitiously at her attire. "From Vive La Différence, a few years ago."

"How did you not get caught?" Youngjae churns out after an ephemeral pause, dubiously scrutinising Hyosung's dressing.

"I did, a few times. Some shops don't have explicit door gate sensors. All you've got to do is make sure you look like you didn't do it intentionally." Hyosung pinches her chin and reveals privily, "The last time the sensors snitched on me, I pretended I was taking an emergency phone call. Said I accidentally stuffed the cardigan into my handbag with my also black jacket in a rush. They held me back so I gave them the desperate eyes and offered to pay for it."

"And voila; they let me go." Hyosung dauntlessly shoots Youngjae a wink, placing a finger to her lips. "Don't worry. I stopped a few months after Cosmopolitan came into the picture."

Downing the last of his beverage, Youngjae jokes, "Why the sudden change of heart?" 

Hyosung waves her hand and puffs, "Himchan wouldn't stop nagging me about it." She checks her phone and grasps Youngjae's wrists, pointing towards the door.

"Let's go buy some snacks to sneak into the cinema." 

The paper-thin afternoon humidity of skinny jeans and teenage romances disperses into the frigid night, Youngjae bidding Hyosung goodbye as she swings into a cab. He flags another taxi down between the saturated city flares and scuttling traffic, reciting Daehyun's address. It has been a long day and he had been rather taken aback by the fact that Hyosung had a two year long unreciprocated crush on Himchan (not anymore, she emphasised), which explains why she has been single for a while.

Though Youngjae has somewhat officially moved into Daehyun's place, he occasionally alternates between his own apartment and Daehyun's villa, ensuring both places are tended to. When Daehyun is absent or if Daehyun has his associates over as guests, Youngjae returns to his dingy apartment trapped on the outskirts of ramshackle motels and decrepit residences. Jieun had admonished Daehyun for the latter case but Youngjae understands the potential repercussions of revealing a boss-subordinate relationship.

All in all, Youngjae usually comes over only when Daehyun invites the bartender back to his home. He wants to refrain from overstepping boundaries, especially since Daehyun is still in the process of opening up. In any case, Daehyun does bring back Youngjae very frequently, incapable of keeping his hands to himself. Youngjae has also moved some of his belongings over, nineties memorabilia cached in one of the locked closets.

Tonight is an exception. With Daehyun not around, no one but the cleaning staff will have attended to the vacant estate. He had better check on the off chance of any theft.

Leaning against the window, Youngjae observes wistfully as the raindrops unravel themselves against the glass window. His fingers dabble in the longing of diaphanous pillow fabric and Daehyun's spice scent. He has held in the ardent urge to phone Daehyun since their last exchange in the late morning.

Stashing a few wads of bills into the driver's palm, Youngjae alights briskly, examining the property queerly enveloped in bleeding dusk. A poignant emptiness forges within Youngjae's ribcage and he immediately chides himself for being childish.

His footsteps ricochet off the porcelain tiles as he unlocks the door, switching on the lights to an unaccustomed, parched silence. He exhales thinly and dumps his paraphernalia on the couch, placing his hands on his hips as the lull placidity twists around him.

The sudden chime of his ringtone nearly startles the man out of his skin, Youngjae clasping on his chest to even out his breathing before grabbing his phone.

"Hello?"

"Youngjae," Daehyun's voice crackles across the phone with a placating hush, reminiscent of the jazz from the weekend late night radio. "Hello, beautiful."

"Hey." Youngjae melts into Daehyun's timbre and he settles down on the couch, chuckling lowly. "You've finished your meeting?"

"Just did," Daehyun declares, shuffling bristling against the speakers as he emanates a contented sigh. "I can't wait to go home. I miss you like mad."

"Sure you do," Youngjae snorts. "How did it go?"

"They seemed quite interested. They have ideas for a franchise, though. I'm afraid it'll lower the name value," Daehyun mentions in contemplation. "Besides, where am I going to find ten other yous?"

"Daehyun, I'm sure you'll be able to find bartenders more qualified than I ever will be. I'm still certain you were half insane when you hired me," Youngjae returns, tracing the cuticle of his thumb absentmindedly. 

"Insane, as in, insanely in love with you, then yes. But that doesn't dismiss the fact that you're skilled." An audible crack of the joints resounds and Daehyun brings up, "Are you at home?"

"Mm. I'm at your place, actually. I came to check if anything's amiss," Youngjae remarks, intuitively peering around. A beat extends in their conversation and Daehyun clears his throat.

"You're at my place? What would be wrong, beautiful?" Daehyun chuckles, clicking his tongue. "You're always worrying for nothing."

"I was scared the cleaning staff might take something since you're not around to notice," Youngjae pouts.

"Don't worry. I locked all my valuables in the safe so you can head home and get a good rest, baby," Daehyun assures firmly. "They've been working for me for a few years so I doubt they'll be up to anything. I've already told them they're not permitted to go into my office when I'm not around." 

"Alright. I'll leave after looking around," Youngjae murmurs. "Anyway, are you doing okay?"

Daehyun's lengthy breath trails across the phone and he hums, "A little tired. Mostly sad, because I miss you."

"I miss you too," Youngjae's voice withers into a tapping warmth, stillness caving in on him. Bruised dusk drapes across the window sill, framing a stretched romance across dreary kilometres. "I wish you were back home."

"I'll come back as soon as I can, baby. I love you," Daehyun comforts, his grogginess stark over the line. "What did you do today?"

"I went out to watch a movie with Hyosung," Youngjae fills in, snuggling into the cushions. "It was a Hong Kong horror flick but I can't remember the name."

"You went out with Hyosung?" Daehyun ricochets, long puff of air resonating afterwards. "Seems like you're having fun without me around. Are you playing around now that your boyfriend's gone?"

"Yup. She was my girlfriend for the day. Best of both worlds," Youngjae announces proudly, deliquescing into a light chortle. "I'm kidding. I really miss you, Daehyun."

"Little squirt. What do you miss about me?" The bar manager rebounds, an underlying mischief to his tone. 

Youngjae smothers back a soft chortle as he crosses his legs. "Your money."

Daehyun emits an offended gasp, stirring mellow laughter within Youngjae's stomach. "You've broken my heart, Yoo Youngjae. Broken it with just two words."

They simmer in chortles before Daehyun's voice drops a pitch, huskiness lacing his syllables. "Do you miss me touching you?"

"Who knows?" Youngjae cheekily answers in a breathy whisper. He can practically envisage Daehyun's insolent smirk. "I've been rather lonely in bed these few days."

"Mm, I bet you miss me inside of you," Daehyun brashly replies, sultry resonance inciting a spark lower down in Youngjae. "You do, hm...? You miss me filling you up all the way and touching you where it feels so good."

"Maybe," Youngjae's voice drops to both a teasing and embarrassed tone. "Are you trying to turn me on? I'm holding you responsible if I have a problem later."

"I don't need to try, beautiful." Daehyun's brazen words seamlessly grow into a deep chuckle, guttural voice only serving to turn Youngjae on more.

"How about I tell you what I miss about you?" Daehyun begins once more in a throaty purr. "Your tightness clenching around me. You moaning so shakily when I'm thrusting in and out of you. I miss feeling you inside out and how wet you are just for me. You miss that too, right, darling?"

Batting his lashes, Youngjae winds up wordless, throat constricting as he instinctively rubs his legs together.

"Tell me, Youngjae." Daehyun's every syllable bristles against the speakers, airy and intoxicating. "You miss that too, don't you? My hands on your thighs, spreading your legs wide open. My lips wrapped around your cock. My fingers deep inside you."

"Daehyun..." Youngjae exhales quietly, his palm inching closer to his crotch. Daehyun's chuckle drives him absolutely up the wall and he revels in Daehyun's gruff tonality, no bashfulness to Daehyun's speech.

"What's the matter?" Daehyun questions teasingly. "Are you already wet, Youngjae? Thinking about me fucking you into the bed?" He draws out a seductive hum and whispers, "I can't wait to get home and bury my cock inside of you, handsome."

Youngjae's adam's apple bobs up and down as his skin trickles with a potent scorch, him letting out a shuddering breath. He unzips his jeans and slips his hand into his underwear, palming his groin. 

"I want you to moan for me, Youngjae," Daehyun's slow voice deepens to a husky growl, clearly turned on by his own stimulating conjectures. "I want you to touch yourself while thinking of me."

"Daehyun," Youngjae croaks, the pleasure enticingly curls in his guts as he grabs his length, pumping harder. His jeans slip off his legs and he rids himself of his remaining lower garment, semi-erection lying against his stomach.

"Finger yourself," Daehyun commands, authoritative tone igniting a much needed eroticism. Youngjae arches back against the couch and bashfully spreads his legs, finger grazing down his perineum to his puckered hole. He sinks his finger in and strains out a groan, searching for his sweet spot. A whimper escapes Youngjae once he rubs at it, Daehyun hissing from arousal.

"I'll have to punish you when we get back, Youngjae. Going out with girls when I know that you really only love my cock thick inside you," Daehyun whispers in an almost animalistic pitch, fervour dousing his coarse voice. "Put another finger inside your tight hole, pretty. Does it feel as good as me?"

"...No," Youngjae softly churns out, adding in another digit and ramming his fingers in to the rim of his knuckles. As Daehyun continues to purr dirty orders into Youngjae's ear, emitting his own gritting moans over the line, crimson blotches against Youngjae's skin and he tilts his head back, fluid dripping from his sore tip. With his timely thrusts and Daehyun's gravelly voice straining into the speakers, Youngjae orgasms in a spurt of white, gasping feebly.

"You're such a good boy, Youngjae," Daehyun praises through huffs, coming down from his own high. Embarrassment grapples with the poor bartender lying spent against the sofa, member softening limply. He slithers out his fingers and heaves, shutting his eyes in a concoction of bliss and incredulity.

"I can't believe you did that," Youngjae exhales in fatigue, intuitively peering around and hurriedly putting on his pants. Daehyun's idle guffaw only serves to prick more red over his cheeks, Youngjae grabbing a tissue to wipe up the remnants of his liquids over the cushions. "No, I can't believe you made  _me_ do that."

"I can't believe you took that so well, too," Daehyun chortles, humming sweetly into the phone. "Go take a shower and go back home, handsome. I'll send one of the guys over to pick you up."

"I'm not a baby, Daehyun. I can go back home myself," Youngjae sighs, though the thoughtfulness has a honey warmth stirring within Youngjae's stomach. He bites his lip and continues softly, "Thank you for thinking of me. You should go to bed too. You've had such a long day."

"I will soon," Daehyun fills in, bliss still twirled around his lazy syllables. "You know, we should have used a webcam. I'd really appreciate the view."

"Gross. You already have those nude pictures of me," Youngjae mutters. He presses the phone closer to his ear, indulging in Daehyun's thin breaths and the rasp of his hoarse voice.

"I'd always prefer video pornography to still images," Daehyun snickers. "Just so you know, I've been using your photos every day."

After they exchange several sweet nothings, Youngjae puts down the phone, heading to the bathroom to shower. He already misses Daehyun, as cliched and corny as it sounds.

The trickle of hot water further coaxes his eyelids shut and Youngjae emerges with his face still flushed, soreness prominent between his legs. He drapes Daehyun's loose T-shirt over himself along with a pair of shorts, smiling softly at the attire. Silence glides around him bitingly and he roams around the house, blearily checking for any anomalies. 

Nothing seems amiss, decor immaculate and orderly. The absinthe cellar is locked as usual. Youngjae peeps into Daehyun's art studio and swings into the neighbouring study, walls sheathed in mellow ochre wallpaper. The wooden tilings augments his tender footsteps and Youngjae ambles over to Daehyun's safe, inspecting it briefly.

He skims through Daehyun's desk drawers and clicks his tongue at the utter mess ensconced within the lowest one, glistening fountain pens sprawled haphazardly over numerous paperwork. Youngjae settles down on Daehyun's cushioned chair and retrieves the entire cluttered pile, sorting through the stack. He thumbs out an unclosed, faded sketchbook from its midst, edges frayed and dog-eared.

It's a portrait of a woman. The gradient of auburn, permed locks falls across the page, framing an intimate side view of a lady with a gaunt jawline and high cheeks, much like those of ballroom heels. A peek of her mossy dress sleeves cut off against the perimetre of the paper, lips battered blood red and eyes diffused into juniper green eyeshadow.

Youngjae flutters his lashes, his thumb smearing accidentally the olive of the woman's attire. The date is scribbled modestly in the corner, somewhere in mid-June. Youngjae gazes from the pigmented canvas to the pencil lead dispersed into his fingerprint.

The tightness in Youngjae's throat has him swallowing, constriction crawling down into his ribcage. He spends several dreary minutes simply staring at the profile of a beautiful woman before he shuts the book. He neatens up the rest of Daehyun's paraphernalia and tucks them back into the drawer, a poignant sadness coiling down his shoulders as he peers at the remaining item in his hands.

It would have been better not to know. He had been elated just a while ago, inwardly cooing at the sound of Daehyun's sleepy timbre. He'd wrapped himself up in his cloud nine and shattered himself onto the concrete so foolishly. It is certainly a childish feeling when he himself had sworn to understand Daehyun's predicament, but to live within the echoes of a woman he may never grow to fill is agonising.

Soothing the dejection gnawing at his brittle bones, he takes in a deep breath. He should not be snooping around but his fingers masochistically turns the page like ripping open a barely pacified wound.

The distinct green graphite bespatters into Youngjae's vision, seafoam frothing along the hairline of the same, unmistakable woman on every single page. It dates back to six months ago, time gaps of days and weeks hinted into the nail indents and smudges here and there. Several clusters of pieces are direly similar to one another, the meek disparities being her smile or position changes. It almost seems as though it is a flipbook, frames scuttling eagerly past him like how a child would glamourise it as a storybook come to life.

Behind Daehyun's latest artwork, a stanza is scribbled in Daehyun's cursive handwriting.

 _I am sorry we have not met in a while._  
Today, we dream after sunset in our palace.  
Where the string quartets attest their infatuation  
And you are serenaded by romantic minuets,  
The beloved princess remains devoted.  
I will visit you more often.

Youngjae scrutinises the poem and curls his fingers, a sense of foreboding bleeding a startling, amplifying numbness into his veins. He hastily flips the page and the nightfall closes in on him, the date scrawled at the corner within their stay in Singapore.

A sudden ring causes Youngjae to drop the book, his eyes flying wide open. He slips the book back into the drawer and shuts it, pacing out of the room. An instinctive wariness crawls up his skin and he glances through the peephole, relaxing upon seeing Yongguk lingering outside.

He unlocks the door and swings it open, peeking out in surprise. "Yongguk, what are you doing here?" He asks in a shrivelled voice, mind clogged with scathing questions and a crushing misery. Had that simply been artsy poetry or had he picked up on a potent allusion?

"Daehyun wanted me to pick you up," Yongguk yawns carelessly, rubbing roughly at his nose in disgruntlement. "God, even when he's not in the country, he's still bugging us about shit."

"Sorry," Youngjae breathes, mustering up a smile.

Yongguk waves his hand and slouches against the wall, remarking, "When he's not around, we've all become substitute boyfriends for you."

Churning out a strained chuckle, Youngjae excuses himself and meanders away, switching off the lights and cautiously checking if he had left any traces in Daehyun's office. He locks the front door and tails Yongguk plodding away, the scrawny man swinging lethargically into the driver's seat. Youngjae hops into the SUV and settles down, heartbeat pounding nauseatingly into his eardrums.

"You know, Daehyun wanted you to get out of there asap," Yongguk laughs lightheartedly, starting the ignition once more. "I'm not supposed to tell but he has a surprise for you in there or something. Hope I didn't come too late."

"Oh," Youngjae forces out a chuckle, distraction mangling his train of thought. He fingers out his phone and skims through his calendar, lungs collapsing into his guts when he notes that the date on the drawing corresponds to the day where Daehyun had vanished to find the absinthe distillery owner. He was gone for a lengthy period of time, even inciting suspicion from Jackson himself, and the undeniable fact was that he returned starkly inebriated.

Youngjae wants to trust Daehyun, no doubt. Accusing him would only create more unnecessary fissures in their relationship after their most recent fall out, Daehyun having been absolutely despondent at the lack of faith Youngjae had in him. But it would be mindless to leave what he saw unprobed and solely close his eyes blissfully.

A hefty inkling pinpoints that the woman in Daehyun's sketches are no doubt his first love, hollow, glassy irises boring through him as he thumbed through the withered pages of obsessive dedication. What did Daehyun mean when he wrote he would visit more frequently? Does this have something to do with what Jackson mentioned—that the absinthe distillery  _Anastasia_ does not exist?

"Yongguk," Youngjae strains out, gaze fixated on the piercing midnight blue and shimmers of traffic squints. Yongguk hums in response and Youngjae continues weakly, "Daehyun's first love—she passed on a few years ago, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Yongguk replies, glimpsing briefly to Youngjae with a sharpened concern. "What about it?"

Youngjae sinks his teeth harshly into his lower lip and says, "It's nothing. Do you... happen to have a photograph of her, maybe?"

Yongguk's brows creases and the slender man drums his finger against the steering wheel, flexing his neck in ponderment. "Not that I know of. Daehyun might have some but I think he mentioned to us before that Sunhwa hated having her picture taken, so I guess you're out of luck." He glances over and hums, "Why the sudden interest?"

"Just curious. You guys really don't have any pictures of her? How does she look like?" Youngjae swiftly rebounds, the rapidity not escaping Yongguk's keen observation.

"Um, she was pretty. Large eyes, tall nose, oval face? Really thin too," Yongguk fills in, slowing to a gentle halt at the junction. He muses, "I really don't think we have any photos of her, Youngjae. It's quite eerie, isn't it? Almost feels like she doesn't exist."

The jagged fabric grazes against Youngjae's fingers and he runs through Yongguk's scarce details, seamlessly matching each feature to that of Daehyun's drawings.

"Were you... there when she..." Youngjae whispers, unable to bring himself to explicitly blab the words. Yongguk takes a beat to decode Youngjae's words and he purses his lips.

"Um, none of us were, besides Daehyun, that is," Yongguk provides with several blinks, mild befuddlement lacing his tone. Youngjae licks his lips, shutting his eyes and curling up against the seat. How can he even question the legitimacy of such a horrible tragedy? 

"What's wrong?" Yongguk asks, this time with a consoling warmth to his tone.

Blue blotches over the windscreen with the acute corners of brick and mortar jabbing at their view, Yongguk steering down the road. Youngjae fiddles with the seams of his jeans and heaves feebly, "I was wondering... if maybe she's still alive."

"What?" Yongguk ricochets, disbelief coursing thorugh his speech. He whips his head to Youngjae and spins it back, throwing bewildered glances while trying to concentrate on the road. "Why would you think that?"

"I'm just being stupid," Youngjae hurriedly returns, biting his lower lip. "Maybe she's around but... just not in the country?"

Seeing Yongguk's flabbergasted countenance, Youngjae hastily waves away his conjecture. "Sorry. I'm losing my mind," he jokes.

He deviates the conversation away with a quick change of topic, muses left to rot in the back of his mind. When the lethargy compounds into the neighbourhood of grimy pillars and murky dumpsters, Youngjae bids Yongguk a quick goodbye and ensconces himself in his bed, brooding relentlessly on the profile of an enigmatic lady, hair unfurled into paper. The grease blemishing his peeling wallpaper glares back haughtily at him and he swallows back the restless sorrow, lying back tiredly.

His phone vibrates. It reminds him of nights alone a year ago where he would lay his old phone by the bed, the one chipped at the sides with a number he has yet to cancel since he sought a form of comfort from the read but never replied messages clogging his inbox. Those where Jaebum would snap from slicing vulgarities and sheer frustration to pleading softly, clawing out the worst of remorse in Youngjae.  _Please, just let me talk to you one last time. How could you leave me behind without telling me?_

The message is from Yongguk.

_Hey, let's go out tomorrow. I want to bring you somewhere._

 


	12. Chapter 12

Daylight falls over Youngjae as he plods through the soil, grass blades pricking at his ankles. The halcyon atmosphere stagnates over the three figures weaving past the tombstones in the clearing. Morning dew laces the overhead leaves, still shimmer encapsulating the silhouette of a teardrop.

As silence simmers around the three men, shoes sloshing through the sodden pasture, Himchan counts the rows before coming to a stop. He steps down the line of headstones and crouches down to get a better look at the fourth one. The grave is engulfed in gnawing moss, olive green creeping into the granite tablet like a disease.

"It's here," Himchan remarks faintly, meeting Youngjae's eyes momentarily before stepping aside. The portrait of copper tresses and brass eyes wilts at the back of Youngjae's mind and he gently gets down onto his knees. He places the white lilies before the grave, fixing his gaze on the obscured scripture. The relentless green almost enshrouds the entirety of the words above, leaving just the lower half untouched.

_Han Sunhwa. 1981 - 2008._

Remorse crumples onto Youngjae's back as he lowers his head, wondering how exactly he found it in himself to question the validity of someone's passing. Daehyun's first love passed on when she was at the tender age of twenty-seven. Daehyun was only twenty years old then.

"Daehyun should have cleaned the headstone. It looks like it hasn't been touched for years," Himchan sighs as he scrutinises the weeds clustering around the marker. Its fringes are chipped and worn against the sides from numerous downpours, blunt granite edges lined with bitter brown.

"Should we do it for him?" Himchan continues as he glimpses up at Yongguk. 

The other man shakes his head and replies, "Maybe he left it this way on purpose."

"I guess so." Himchan breathes not another word for the next few moments, chilly humidity seeping over their skin. He eventually swivels his eyes over to the bartender paying respects, lips sealed. Sunlight diffuses over Youngjae's auburn hair and the man raises his head after a lengthy while, rising onto his feet with his knees sullied.

"You alright?" Yongguk asks, Youngjae lightly brushing off the crumbs of soil on his leg. The latter nods and steps aside for the other two to pay their respects, dwelling poignantly on the silhouette of a woman tattooed into Daehyun's bones. She is the reason why Daehyun breathes absinthe day after day and smiles like the world will constantly skid to a halt to let him pass—and even if it does not, it will not worry Daehyun one bit. From the slapstick accounts of acne-ridden Daehyun in his late teens wearing his shirt backwards to school to the debonair man now possessing exquisite composure, Daehyun has been through worse and worse up till now.

So has Sunhwa. Though Youngjae has only heard stories of her hardships, he dips his head once more in regard before tailing Himchan and Yongguk out of the graveyard, the hour having drifted away. A frosty draft bristles the hair along Youngjae's neck and Himchan winds an arm around his shoulders, tugging him to the main road.

"Life is kind of fragile, huh?" Yongguk wheezes, counting the crevices along the concrete pavement. He prods at a pebble and continues, "I can't even remember how her voice sounded like."

"Neither can I," Himchan confesses with a subtle blue punctured into his words. A whimsical mien inscribes into the wrinkles on his cheeks and his fingers rest on Youngjae's arm.

"I can't imagine being... forgotten." Himchan lifts his head, peering up at the clouded sky.

"Makes me feel so small just thinking about it. One moment, you're there. The other, you're gone. And billions of people are still going to go about their lives even though you're not there anymore."

Stopping short in his bout of maudlin musings, Himchan embarrassedly looks over at the other two. Youngjae simpers up at him with a soft comfort in his hazelnut irises.

"I'll remember you," Youngjae says, Himchan blinking back at him with a blooming flush. The former brushes Yongguk's elbow and hums assuringly, "I'll remember both of you."

Evidently flustered, Himchan clears his throat and snorts uncouthly, "You sound like a kid. And who says I'll die before you?"

"You're older, so do the math," Youngjae points out matter-of-factly, Yongguk deliquescing into a summery laugh in mid-autumn. Himchan jabs Youngjae in the ribs and the brittle ambience thaws over the ten o'clock sunshine. Warmth chatters between the conversational passers-by and typewriter footsteps, the trio pacing towards the car park.

"Are you going to tell us now why you asked me that question last night?" Yongguk inquires, lanky legs shuffling towards his SUV. They scrape the pungence of cigarette ashes from their feet before swinging into the van, Himchan thumbing a speckle of muck from Yongguk's chin.

"It's nothing, guys. Really," Youngjae persuades. "I just suddenly wondered. I'm sorry for worrying you guys."

"You don't just out of nowhere wonder if someone deceased for the past two years is alive," Himchan deadpans, chiding Yongguk when the other attempts to slot in one of his ear-splitting rap CDs into the console. 

"Did the idiot say something wrong?" Himchan twists his body back to look at Youngjae, the latter fluttering his lashes.

"He didn't," Youngjae returns while Yongguk swerves out of the vacant car park. The verdant fields stretch out to the pigmentation of the horizon, baby blue drizzled between uneven gaps of leaves.

Himchan thins his lips and rests his crown against the side of the headrest. "Jae, if you're worried he's still hung up over his first love, don't be," he lowers his voice, delving deep into the innocuous bartender's pupils.

"Dating Daehyun isn't a walk in the park; we know," Himchan remarks, cheeks sagging as he pointedly makes a face. "It's hard to understand the things he does. Like when he's faking his terrible American accent in front of our English-speaking clients. Why does he do that when it makes him look stupid? I don't know. I just smile back and think to myself that he's a total dumbass."

Youngjae melts into syrupy chortles, Himchan victoriously grinning along. The latter stretches out his arm and rests his palm on Youngjae's knee, squeezing lightly.

"Daehyun loves you. If he didn't, he wouldn't have stayed for so long." Himchan veers himself back and sprawls out over the passenger seat, fidgeting around to find a better, more accustomed position. "He's a heartless bastard who dumped five girls in two months. Trust me, he'd have left ages ago."

Yongguk nudges Himchan to hush and clicks his tongue, slender fingers clasping the gear shift. He peers at Youngjae through the rear view mirror and casts him a reassuring grin, gums brimming between his chapped lips.

"I know it's hard for you, Youngjae," Yongguk reasons tenderly, cruising down the desolate roads through blots of all-encompassing green. "Daehyun's been through a lot and he hasn't fully let go yet so you've had to be patient till now."

"Still, just because Daehyun has to deal with his issues, it doesn't mean you have to keep mum and be understanding about everything. You're his boyfriend; you have the right to know. If there's anything bothering you, talk to Daehyun about it."

"Hey, don't give better advice than me," Himchan grumbles, squishing himself against the window when Yongguk attempts to swat him.

"Don't ruin the moment. I stayed up all night coming up with a speech."

Breaking out into chortles, Yongguk's heartening words treads into the recesses of Youngjae's mind and Youngjae allows his taut shoulders to go limp.

"You guys sound like my parents," he jokes, stiff capillaries easing as the disquietude he'd spent the whole night ruminating over disperses. Yongguk is right. He can always probe if it worries him. It just seemed a noble obligation not to grill Daehyun on anything related to his precarious history.

"Let’s go get breakfast,” Youngjae raises, lips quirking as he pokes his head in front. “It’s on me."

Over the rugged caffeine and ground beans, tungsten waltzes over the brick walls of the cafe, Yongguk rambling about his quarrel with Junhong the other day about adopting a pet dog. Having vacuumed up every morsel of his brunch, Himchan tugs out his phone and switches it on, Yongguk having instructed all of them to turn their mobiles off before arriving at the burial ground.

A barrage of vibrations burst from Himchan's phone, the young man abruptly taken aback by the amount of messages flooding his inbox. A bulk of them are all automated messages, listing the persistent number that had been dialling him incessantly, while the rest are texts from Daehyun.

"I think you better turn on your phone, Youngjae," Himchan winces, scrolling through the multitude of notifications. "Daehyun's looking for you and it kind of feels like he's been freaking out for a while now."

"What?" Youngjae gapes, hastily digging through his backpack. He fishes out his phone from the disarray and cringes when a similar outpouring of notifications clogs his screen upon. The most recent few are from Hyosung questioning his whereabouts and relaying that Daehyun is panicking, for whatever reason.

"I have to go," Youngjae breathes, jolting up from his seat. He wolfs down the rest of his meal and Yongguk calls after him, wanting to send him back. The brass bells chime timidly as Youngjae wrenches open the glass door and swings out, flagging a taxi that had just dropped off a passenger.

After spouting his address, he swiftly dials Daehyun, traffic smearing over the windshield. Daehyun answers the call in a short three rings.

"Youngjae?" The anxiousness dribbles from his raised voice. 

"Daehyun, I'm sorry for not picking up," Youngjae starts with a tinge of remorse. "I was out with Yongguk and Himchan and we didn't check our phones."

"It's okay," Daehyun heaves, hefty breath tickling the speaker. He pauses for a moment or so before asking softly, "You're okay, right? Have you eaten?"

"Mm. Why'd you suddenly call?" Youngjae questions in an awkward chuckle, still rather startled by the influx of messages peppering his phone. "Is everything alright? Are you in trouble?"

"No, no," Daehyun breathes, fatigue suffusing his pitch. "I'm sorry. I was overreacting. Yongguk... He told me what happened so I flew back early. I couldn't find you at your apartment and you weren't at my place either. When my calls couldn't get through, I... just thought the worst of it."

"Yongguk told you what happened?" Youngjae faintly echoes. Silence tremors over the line and receiving no response, Youngjae exhales, "Where are you now?"

"I'm on my way home."

"I'll come see you," Youngjae returns instantly.

"Alright," Daehyun concedes, too exhausted to churn out a longer reply. "I'll see you there. Take care."

The trip back home takes thirty minutes, familiar seams of Gangnam treading over the snapping traffic hold-ups. Youngjae alights from the cab and briskly saunters towards the ajar front door. Gently prodding it open, Daehyun glances up from his seat on the couch, still clad in his white dress shirt and grey trousers with his arms propped up on his knees. Daehyun instantaneously stands and crosses the room in an expeditious few strides, firmly pulling Youngjae into his chest.

"You gave me a heart attack." He interweaves his rumpled fingers through Youngjae's cinnamon tufts, pressing their cheeks together and emanating a leaden croak. "I thought you left me."

"Why would you think that? I was only gone for a few hours," Youngjae whispers placatingly, winding his lean arms tight around Daehyun's waist. A fleeting quietness buckles alongside their breaths and Daehyun lets out a long exhale.

"Because I screwed up," he murmurs into the hem of Youngjae's skin, nestling his nose persistently into the other's neck. 

His following words come terribly small. "I've had a lot of people leave me."

Youngjae's heart shrivels and he struggles slightly in Daehyun's suffocating grip, tilting back so as to look his boyfriend in the eyes. Perturbation burrows into Daehyun's blackened irises, forlornness withering over his scarred skin. 

"You didn't screw up, Daehyun. I was being stupid and asked Yongguk a weird question. It didn't mean anything," Youngjae pacifies, earnest gaze capsizing in Daehyun's orbs. "I won't leave you."

"It did mean something," Daehyun sighs, cupping Youngjae's jaw and sealing their lips deeply. He nearly inhales Youngjae with the ferocity of their kiss, Youngjae grappling to keep pace. As Youngjae gasps for breath, Daehyun affectionately thumbs Youngjae's cheek, motions gradual and ginger.

"I saw you cleaned up my desk," Daehyun begins faintly. "Was it the sketchbook?"

Youngjae unsurely averts his gaze. Daehyun promptly tilts the bartender's head upwards, maintaining their eye contact as he mildly coaxes, "Tell me the truth, Youngjae."

"Yeah... I'm sorry. It was already opened when I found it," Youngjae whispers belatedly. Daehyun's back slackens and he caresses Youngjae's cheek ruefully.

"It's really stupid," Youngjae churns out a dismissive chuckle. "I just... saw the stuff you wrote on the back and thought maybe... she was..."

Daehyun plants a saccharine kiss on the tip of Youngjae's nose, brushing away the stray strands of umber over Youngjae's brows. "Did anything else trouble you?"

"Was I supposed to find more?" Youngjae jokes, Daehyun softly chuckling and chastely pressing their lips together. He interlocks their hands snugly and leads Youngjae to the living room, seating the man down on the couch before meandering to his office. After an extended while, he surprisingly emerges with the battered sketchbook in one hand, Youngjae reclining hesitantly.

Daehyun settles by Youngjae's side and casts his sketchbook a cursory glance, entwining their fingers. He debates on his words for a dreary few minutes before speaking.

"Do you remember when I told you I liked paintings more than photographs?" Daehyun's rasp scrapes by his knobbly knuckles as he scours the room, numerous of bold, asymmetric paintings chiselled into the ivory wallpaper.

“You can keep people alive in drawings.” Nostalgia lacquers the ambience and he continues, "You'll never have another photograph once the person's gone... but you'll always be able to draw them doing the things they used to do. Doing things you wish they got to do."

Daehyun gingerly flips open the book and thumbs the threadbare corners of the page, Sunhwa's cobalt smile lingering over indents of lead and eraser marks. He flits his lashes after a short while, sighing softly.

"I... like to think she's happy now," Daehyun confesses, speech faltering midway. "I remember she had a rather broken smile, so I draw her smiling sometimes. More… genuinely." 

"She went through a lot. I still feel… bad she left the way she did," Daehyun regretfully wheezes, shutting the book and conclusively placing it aside. He gets up and crouches to level their eyes, wholeheartedly delving into Youngjae's eyes.

"While we were on vacation, I suddenly thought about burning the joss paper for her after what Jackson said. To make up for all the things she had to endure. The stuff I wrote didn’t mean anything." He clasps Youngjae's hand with a steadfast assurance.

"I'm sorry, Youngjae. I love you—don't you ever question this," Daehyun breathes, claiming the other's lips in one seamless swoop. Their lips mesh in the applause of paper roses and origami nails as Youngjae sweetly folds into Daehyun's hold, gripping tight before he collapses into every osmosing inch of the man before him.

"I understand. I'm sorry for doubting you," Youngjae murmurs as they pull apart, hands curling into one another. “I… I was just afraid. Afraid of losing you.”

"You made me so worried," Daehyun says through a husky exhale, once more tangling his arms around Youngjae's waist. "When Yongguk texted me and asked what I did, I booked the earliest flight back to see you."

"I'm sorry," Youngjae repeats in a low tone, ribcage pressed almost painfully into Daehyun's brawn chest. "You shouldn't have come home. You dropped all your business matters for nothing."

"It's not for nothing. It's for you—and  _you_  are my everything," Daehyun corrects mischievously, smothering back a guffaw when Youngjae squints at him. "Your happiness means more to me than anything else in this world, Youngjae. Honestly."

Warmth simmers into the afternoon smithereens, Youngjae bashfully stroking his boyfriend's cheek. "What are you going to do now? You just left like that."

"Don't worry about it. I already told them I've gone back for urgent matters," Daehyun fills in, lethargy blemishing grey underneath his lashes.

"You should take a nap, then," Youngjae advises, guilt frothing in his stomach. "I'm sorry I made you rush home for something so small. You must be so tired."

"Mm, I'd like that. Sleep with me?" Daehyun purrs, less teasing and more infatuation weaved into his daybreak hoarseness.

Youngjae acquiesces lovingly and leads his boyfriend to the bedroom, switching on the air-conditioning. He burrows through Daehyun's drawer for a comfortable wife beater and shorts. Helping Daehyun out of his creased attire and into his home clothes, he nudges the taller man onto the mattress, quickly changing and scooting under the sheets with him. 

Daehyun's scent is a distinct cocktail of airline fragrances, instant coffee and cabin air. They amorously meet eyes and Youngjae contemplates Sunhwa's drawn smile as it melts from his memory.

"Thank you for telling me, Daehyun. It means a lot." He pecks Daehyun's lips and their legs interlace, Daehyun guiding Youngjae's forehead to rest on him. Daehyun's breath tousles the crest of his hair and Youngjae nestles into Daehyun's chest, missing the absent heat over the past several days. "I'm really happy you're home."

Humming a low hymn, Daehyun runs his palm soothingly over Youngjae's back. He murmurs, "I hate lying to you. I don't want to hide things from you but I don't want to ever make you sad."

"It hurts more if you don't tell me," Youngjae divulges. Daehyun pulls the man closer and absentmindedly plays with the rim of skin peeking out below Youngjae's crumpled shirt.

"You know, I still haven't given you the punishment I promised," Daehyun teases, his fingers coyly dipping into Youngjae's shorts. Youngjae pinches Daehyun's nipple through the fabric of his shirt and immediately elicits a scandalised yelp from the man, Daehyun cupping his chest protectively with a stunned expression.

"Go to sleep, you idiot." Youngjae tumbles over and Daehyun obediently cuddles up to his side, latching Youngjae to match every of their contours.

As the waning morning draws out a decent lullaby between the still curtains, Youngjae falls asleep when Daehyun's breathing eventually evens out. He dreams of sweaty linens and rolling over to drool all over the sheets, Jaebum curled up in a bundle after crashing at his dorm room. There isn't anyone chasing him this time but he hears the persistent tick of the clock, deadlines scribbled into the back of his head. His tuition grant form is neatly stacked above Jaebum's creased excuse for a paper, both of them complaining about summer heat and melting popsicles.

Youngjae misses it a little—the rhythm of grinding theorems and back-to-back modules, drinking cheap beer with friends in one of their haphazard rooms, all discreet teenage laughter while they're growing out of their twenties. He plops out of his stream-like dream onto shore and cracks apart the sand crust layering his lashes. Creeping out of Daehyun's hold, he combs Daehyun's hair out of his eyes and presses an innocent kiss to his nose, padding out to the porch.

Immersing in the tranquil serenity, he mulls over the day with tender blues. They need to be more honest with each other. As long as they work out an understanding, things will be alright.

Youngjae ambles over to the kitchen to make a late lunch for both Daehyun and him, stir frying some leftover luncheon meat and rice. He keeps the fried rice warm and helps Daehyun unpack his luggage, throwing his dirty laundry into the wash. He debates on whether to sort out the merchandise Daehyun has bought, all shoved into one plastic bag, when Himchan suddenly calls. The pair talk for not more than ten minutes till a pair of thick arms securely coil around Youngjae's waist.

Daehyun begins nibbling on the nape of Youngjae's neck, coaxing out chiming peals from his boyfriend. "I'll call you back later, Himchan," Youngjae manages out, cutting the call and reclining into Daehyun's hold. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"Mm, I did. I dreamt you and I were all alone on a tropical island," Daehyun sighs in exaltation, "where there was no reception so Himchan couldn't bother you. Some dreams are so good that you just never want to wake up."

"Stupid," Youngjae buoyantly laughs. "I made fried rice for you." He walks his fingers over Daehyun's arms and hums when Daehyun purrs into his shoulder.

"Thank you, darling. How'd you know I'd be hungry?"

"You're always hungry," Youngjae counters easily as he rubs circles into Daehyun's palm. Daehyun slithers his hand down to sensually massage Youngjae's succulent thigh.

"For you, that is," Daehyun informs, whining when his boyfriend escapes his embrace. He sweeps Youngjae back into his arms and plants a sheepish kiss on his forehead.

"Are you feeling better?" He deepens his voice, sincerity radiating from his gentle gaze. "I'm sorry for upsetting you."

"I'm fine, Daehyun. Are you?" Youngjae asks softly, simmering into a rosemary smile when Daehyun nods surely. He wanders away to get a serving for Daehyun and returns to find numerous goods sprawled across the floor, the previously brimming shopping bag now deflated in one corner.

"Thanks, beautiful." Daehyun heartily wolfs down his meal, Youngjae fleetingly skimming through the branded items.

"You went on a shopping spree?" Youngjae cajoles. "Wow, Jeju must have had a lot of stuff."

"These are for you." In one colossal sweep, Daehyun nudges all the extravagant souvenirs towards Youngjae.

"I was planning to leave the gift-shopping for the last day so I didn't get a chance to look around much with the trip cut short. These are all from the airport's duty free stores," Daehyun elaborates, contentedly munching on his rice while Youngjae gawps at the vast array of presents before him. He gingerly picks up a Coach wallet and glances at Daehyun.

"I'm sorry for making you sad, darling." Daehyun affectionately cups Youngjae's cheek, fondly stroking down the mild acne scars sparsely peppering his cheek. He enthusiastically unfolds some silk garments to the tune of Rhapsody in Blue, combing aside Youngjae's short tresses to match them against his skin.

"I hope this makes up for it a little."

“Daehyun,” Youngjae pauses, speechlessly staring at the mixture of accessories with a growing frown. Daehyun flits his lashes at him and lowers the silk robe, a tint of dejection folding into his countenance.

“Do you not like them?” Daehyun rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s not that,” Youngjae heaves, conflicted. “You always do this. I’ve already told you that you don’t have to buy me things whenever we argue.”

“But I’m scared you’ll leave,” Daehyun says, words uncharacteristically quiet.

Youngjae softens and he leans over, placing a hand over Daehyun’s. “I’m not going to leave.”

“But we keep fighting nowadays. I can’t make you happy,” Daehyun voices, averting his gaze dejectedly.

“It’s okay for us to argue sometimes, Daehyun. We’re not some fairy tale couple. It’d be weird if we didn’t disagree on a few things,” Youngjae assures, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand. “You don’t have to buy me things to make me stay. If I was that shallow, you should seriously dump me.”

Daehyun emanates a mellow chuckle, slipping his fingers through the gaps between Youngjae’s fingers. Youngjae twines them snugly and pecks Daehyun on the forehead.

“Don’t buy me any more gifts, okay?” His hand escapes Daehyun’s clasp and he folds back the clothes. The wind chimes in the balcony sing a faint hymn as Daehyun melts into a misty look.

He smiles when Youngjae glimpses up from the sprawl of satin, ultimately stopping the bartender in his ministrations. He delicately kisses Youngjae, nipping on the man’s lower lip like pinching honey, and nudges him into a hug.

“Okay.” Daehyun’s breath tickles Youngjae’s ear and the autumn afternoon dries upon their conversation. Youngjae nestles against Daehyun.

“You could have just called to ask, you know,” Youngjae laughs. “Would have saved you a lot of trouble.”

“It didn’t feel right to settle this over the phone.” Daehyun concludes with a light kiss to Youngjae’s cheek. “Right, I didn’t ask. Why were you, Himchan and Yongguk out so early with your phones switched off? I couldn’t get through to any of you.”

“We just went out for breakfast,” Youngjae dismisses with a shrug.

Daehyun lets out a sigh and pinches the bartender’s cheek. “You also shouldn’t hide things from me, Youngjae.” He rises from his seat and paces over to the bar, niftily pulling out several spirits from the shelves. “I’m still going to find out from Himchan and Yongguk, anyway.”

“How about I whip up something for the both of us? Mimosa with apple cider?”

“Mm,” Youngjae hums, stacking away the clothes Daehyun bought. He debates on answering Daehyun’s question before deciding to leave it to Himchan and Yongguk. It would be better for them to explain why they had been there, since Youngjae holds only a threadbare connection with Sunhwa.

He settles by the bar and gratefully tugs over the glass, smiling indiscernibly to himself when Daehyun prods aside his jar of absinthe.

 

\--

 

The atmosphere of a bar thaws along with the shimmers of jazz, glasses twiddled between slender fingers and polished nails. Last week had been fairly hectic, what with Independence Day nearing, unfamiliar faces and the clumsy fumbling of small change materialising within Cosmopolitan’s four walls.

The place has been more vibrant with paper chatter, though mostly far from Youngjae. There have been a few jaunty cliques that thought to share their joy and swooped Youngjae into their merriment, however.

Youngjae had been away a few days ago, having been invited to serve at a dinner function one of their best clients held. Soju, makgeolli, plum wine, the splatters of bomb shots and cheers come as fresh as spilt confetti over his palms. Today, Youngjae immerses himself in the dying ambience of sanguine smiles, Tuesday closing the eruption of festivities.

It is rather tranquil in the bar, slick piano phrases echoing faintly. Youngjae bids the two elderly men by the counter farewell and bows to a middle-aged lady who treads in minutes later, seating herself on the middle stool. The sleeves of her gown stretch against her gaunt elbows as she surveys the environment momentarily, smile ready on her lips.

“How may I help you, miss?” Youngjae greets, popping a new bottle of champagne. Translucent gold tinkles into the glasses and Jieun escorts the beverages away, slowness twirling over the thin murmurs.

“I’d like a drink, please,” the woman casts Youngjae a playful smile, crossing her arms over the counter. “Three parts cognac, one part orange curacao, two teaspoons of absinthe.”

Swiftly thumbing out the necessities, Youngjae composes the bruise of amber within a cold cocktail glass, shivers of absinthe wilting in brandy and bittersweet citrus. "Would you like it to be garnished?" Youngjae asks, straining the last of the beverage.

"No need." She takes the glass between two fingers and elegantly sips at her drink. "Mm, I love the silhouette of absinthe this drink leaves in your mouth. Like a blunt sting."

"Did you come up with this cocktail?" Youngjae questions intuitively. It’s certainly not catalogued under the IBA—he would know since it is a bare requirement to memorise the list if he wants to work at a place like Cosmopolitan. He doesn’t remember ever coming across such a recipe, either.

"An acquaintance recommended it to me. His personal mixologist invented it," the lady hums, glossed nails clacking against the damp glass. "She calls it  _Dream_."

"It's been catching on in a few areas but I doubt the name has spread to here." She slips on her cardigan and adjusts her halter beige dress, silver bracelets jingling.

"A few bartenders would probably think you were asking for a Golden Dream," Youngjae returns, the customer promptly shaking her head.

"That drink is too fluffy," she remarks in distaste. "It's more of a nightmare, if you ask me. They really overdid it in its name."

Youngjae chuckles, swiftly replacing the pour spout for the vodka. "Yeah, it’s very creamy," he remarks. "Not a lot of people enjoy that sort of consistency in a drink."

"You're definitely right about that." The woman inspects her mint nails for a second, vintage rose ring embracing her fourth finger. She crosses her legs and languidly plops her head against one bony shoulder, pupils flickering to absorb in the pristine vicinity. "I really needed this change in scenery. It's been a long day at the office."

"It's always good to unwind with a drink," Youngjae chuckles lightheartedly. "Even I drink after work."

"Wow, and here I thought bartenders would be sick of alcohol," she drawls. "Then again, it must be pretty masochistic for you guys to watch us drink and have a good time."

"Yeah. It makes the trip to the bar after work a lot nicer, though. When someone’s serving you instead of the other way round.” 

Chicago blues fizzles with the backdrop of crunched metacarpals and sedated smiles. The lady heartily jests, "I'd like to be on the receiving end too. Maybe I should swing by a shrink on the way back.”

“Must be tough to work as one,” Youngjae says. Billows of laughter traverse over the faceless guests in the backdrop, the patron slouching carelessly in her seat.

“You bet it is. The amount of problems people have,” she takes a bold swig of her glass, mellowing in the scratch of absinthe. “There’s some fucked up people out there you don't ever want to meet."

"My colleague once took on a convict that murdered his sister and carried her skin in his pocket," she reminisces with a click of the tongue.

Youngjae instantly winces. “Do you find out how they become like that?”

“Abuse, trauma, maybe they're born that way," she hums casually. "There's a lot of reasons. Sometimes, none at all that you and I can comprehend.”

Jieun paces towards the counter at this moment and casts the middle-aged patron a cordial smile, listing swiftly off the order form. "Two margaritas, on the rocks, and one Mai Tai."

Youngjae slickly slices several limes and strains out fresh juice into a bowl, swiping two chilled margarita glasses from the cooler. Snow pellets cling to each of their rims as Youngjae steadily twirls the cups through the bowl of salt.

“I came here with my husband a month ago,” the patron easily picks up the conversation from where they left off. “We don’t usually splurge on posh places like this but I really like the atmosphere of this place. It’s very soothing.”

“Where do you usually drink?” Youngjae asks in return, shaking up the tequila, Cointreau and lime juice.

“Vau Atrium. It’s a five-minute drive from here.” She languidly gazes at Youngjae's ministrations under the canopy of her mascara, smeared against her eyelids.

“Oh, Vau Atrium. They’re famous for their array of white wine,” Youngjae mentions, dotting the Mai Tai in his hands with a small paper umbrella.

“Yes, but it’s not my thing,” She yawns, tears pooling along her lashes. “I was thinking of whether to head home or get a drink but well, alcohol helps me loosen up.”

Youngjae slides the three cocktails onto the tray, summery marigold juxtaposed against a duet of cool, pale lime. Jieun promptly winds over and takes the tray, striding over to the young group at one end.

She rests her chin on her hands and says, “One of my clients committed suicide today.”

The air seems to stale at this instant. Youngjae lowers his head and breathes, “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.” The woman slowly bats her lashes and zones out for a while, distant gaze lost in the display of spirit bottles. “I’ve been working for fourteen years in this field, so I know better. It still always feels like it’s my fault, though.”

Before Youngjae can offer a few words of consolation, the lady clears her throat, taking another sip of her cocktail. “People come and go so easily, huh? One moment they’re there and the next, they’re not.”

Youngjae keeps mum, the woman before him letting out a big sigh.

“Mental illnesses are scary things. They eat people from the inside so you can’t tell the damage.” She drags a nail down the back of her hand and observes the red blooming onto her skin.

“They put a lens over your eyes and make you see a distorted reality no one else can see.” She brushes her hair back, proffering Youngjae a thoughtful smile.

“I still remember the first death I ever experienced in my field of work.” Nostalgia enshrouds her irises as she continues, “He was a chronic daydreamer. He spent ten hours a day making up the life he wanted in his head. Just lying there with his eyes closed, mapping out unreal conversations and make-believe people.”

“You know what he told me?” The lady exhales, umber of her eyes dull against the charcoal of her mascara. “He said he was too ambitious, and it was killing him that he had so many dreams unfulfilled. So he made up a big dream in his head where he could be everything he wanted to be.”

“The last thing he said to me was that he wanted to keep his eyes closed permanently, so he could always be who he wanted to be.”

The patron presses her lips together, memories billowing against her countenance. Her lips quirk and she leans back, meeting Youngjae’s eyes with a smile.

“People are strange things, right?” She remarks. “There are some things we just can't have but want, and it drives us up the wall.”

“The only way to bridge that discord so there’s no emptiness in between is to fill it with our imagination,” she muses, stirring her cocktail gingerly.

“Yeah,” Youngjae wheezes, a drawn-out silence falling over the bar. “It’s… hard to face that gap. To know some things are just forever out of reach.”

“It is.” The woman slurps at her drink and flickers her gaze back to meet Youngjae’s. She hums, “I heard that bartenders have a lot of sad stories. Are there any that have stuck with you?”

The reminiscences flutter past along with the scraps of forgotten conversations. He pictures the hands resting against the bar top, that of prim fingernails, long wrinkles and underlying dirt. There’s no disfigurements on this counter but he still remembers the wounds left behind. That of the first patron in Cosmopolitan who sat by the bar, Sunggyu and Hayi.

The faceless from the dingy bar he worked at ring in his head as well—those awkward mid-thirties just looking for company and the only attention they'll have for the day, veterans who blather rehashed war stories and people who have lost everything and now themselves to the alcohol.

"Yeah," Youngjae answers. "A lot of people come to drink their sorrows away."

"Am I one of them?" The patron laughs, Youngjae sharing a light smile.

"I've had the noisiest drunks be the ones with the saddest stories. One of my regulars lost his family in a car crash. They were going to pick him up from the airport," Youngjae exhales, light in his eyes dimming.

"I'm in the business of helping these people, but honestly? I wouldn't know how to go on if that happened to me," she mumbles, letting out a rugged breath.

"Imagine that pain… How do you cope with losing everything, and for no reason at all?" The customer finishes her drink, remnants of her lipstick left against the rim of her glass. "There are just some things you can never accept. Why you, out of billions?"

"Is it better to try to forget, in such cases?" Youngjae softly asks.

"Avoiding is the worst thing you could do," the woman chides, cheeks now blossoming red. "You live in a dream until the reality of things catches up to you and plunges you into a worse nightmare.”

“The fear of remembering haunts you for the rest of your life," she drawls.

The patron's phone vibrates across the bar top. She picks up the call, flashing Youngjae an apologetic look. Youngjae dwells in the moment of buried memoirs and glimpses at table four, engulfed in autumnal auburn and classy decor. Daehyun's bare grin crystallises amid the flush of ball gowns, the female client he's conversing with grasping a glass of absinthe. He’s wearing the flower lapel pin Youngjae bought for him.

"Just when I'm thinking of him, he calls," the lady sighs, placing down her phone. "People are fragile things, so it's nice to have a reminder every now and then that anything can happen."

The customer leaves a good half an hour later, her husband having arrived to fetch her home. Nightfall rots into the need to feel, hold and cherish as Youngjae crafts out a dozen more martinis in glass slippers, melancholy nipping at the edge of his veins. He thinks of Jaebum slouched over the granite bar counter, complaining about the assignment due this week, and his mother's rasp over the phone.

The fondue of coldness wraps around the interior, of a bar carved from impeccability and  _time stops for the rich_. He misses Jaebum and the few times he went home during spring break. His parents do not speak much but Youngjae still likes the lumpy pillows at home.

When the last tinkles of glass and fabricated laughter ebb away, Daehyun winds over to the counter as per usual. He mischievously attempts to squeeze Youngjae's behind as he reaches for his absinthe, only to be pulled into an unexpected embrace.

Youngjae nestles his nose into Daehyun's neck and emits a faint breath, shutting his eyes in fatigue. Daehyun warmly wraps his arms around Youngjae's shoulders and presses a delicate kiss to the bartender's skin, soothing him with lullaby words and stark warmth.

As the tension collapses from Youngjae's shoulders, Daehyun leans back and gently holds Youngjae's small face in his hands. "Is everything okay, beautiful?"

"Mm," Youngjae answers quietly, inhaling the familiarity of spice cologne and spearmint.

"I know something's wrong, baby," Daehyun coaxes in a low voice, nuzzling their noses. "Was it something a customer said?"

Youngjae clasps Daehyun's palm over his cheek, mapping out the indented crinkles and dried skin. "It's not like that. I was just afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Daehyun asks sotto voce. He thumbs Youngjae's cheek with a gruff chuckle. "Whatever you're scared of, you know I'll always be here to protect you."

"That's what I'm scared of," Youngjae murmurs. He obediently stays put as Daehyun pecks his temple. A few of the other staff members are peering at them, exchanging curious looks with one another.

"What do you mean?"

Youngjae lowers his head. "It's stupid. One of the customers was talking to me about losing your loved ones."

Daehyun flits his lashes. After a pause, he questions, "You're scared of me dying?"

Youngjae gingerly nods. The ambience of brass glimmer folds along the seams of their whispers, Daehyun caressing Youngjae's face with an intimate tenderness.

"Silly. You sound just like Junhong," Daehyun breathes. He guides their lips together and the spurts of bitter mint scrawl over Youngjae's tongue. It feels like broken memories and scars brought home.

They remain in each other's embrace for a long while, nothing but the rhythm of their breaths unfurled into the ambience. Youngjae ultimately slips away and they interlock fingers tightly.

"I’m feeling better now. You wanted your absinthe, didn't you?" Youngjae says, taking the opaque bottle from the cupboard. He pours but a small fraction into a martini glass before Daehyun clasps his wrist, ceasing the seething, emerald flow.

"It's alright. I'm not in the mood," Daehyun returns, capping the bottle and stashing back into the compartment. He swoops in for another saccharine kiss and simultaneously pours away the lucent spirit, jade green gurgling down the drain.

"Why'd you pour it away? I could have drunk that if you didn't want to," Youngjae points out, lamenting the last of absinthe dripping away.

Daehyun sends him a stern look and squeezes the bartender's hand, reminding, "Remember what I told you about my absinthe?"

“If you’re drinking it, it can’t be that bad, right?” Youngjae mentions. Daehyun frowns and pinches Youngjae’s cheek.

“It can. I’m drinking it because bad things can happen to me. But not to you,” Daehyun states, tugging Youngjae away from the counter. He presses his lips to Youngjae’s nose and says, “Come home with me tonight.”

They unwind into snug linens and each other’s warmth hours later, slumber sweetly crooning them into their ginger dreams. In a concoction of silver clouds and burnt stardust, Youngjae runs to the tempo of hearty laughter and worn-out shoes. From squeaky, toddler sandals to muddy sneakers, he sprints with the wind hailing against his skin. The patter of footsteps behind him melts from childish exhilaration of  _tag, you’re it_  to sundried familiarity across the soccer field.

Youngjae trips. He nearly hurtles down a cliff into an ocean swamped with filthy algae when a hand clutches onto his. Brown hair, lesion across his temple, earnest eyes.

_I’m not going to let you go._

 

\--

 

Sunlight toils by the flimsy curtains as Youngjae gazes up at his old phone, running his thumb over the chipped edges. He once more skims through the message, threading his fingers through his hair.

It has been a long while since Jaebum contacted him. For the longest time, Youngjae believed he had thrown in the towel and decided it was not worth the time. Today proved wrong, however.

 _Inna_   _called me to ask how you were doing since she couldn’t get through to you. I said you were fine and your phone’s broken. If you’re going to ignore me, at least don’t ignore your sister._

Youngjae opens up his missed calls list and ultimately places his phone on his chest, gazing up tiredly at the ceiling. In spite of the Yoo siblings not being close with one another, Inna has always made the effort to reach out to each of them every once in a while, despite being married and busy with her career.

He sweeps aside his old phone and scours around his shoebox apartment for his absinthe notes. He had been to several distilleries in South Korea over the past few weeks, seizing his off days to visit and learn about the brewing procedure. His imported Roman wormwood had arrived yesterday and he had straight away macerated the herbs needed in several mason jars, dictating the duration of each. The time taken for the herbs to infuse into the alcohol influences the flavour, so he had been told.

Though, Youngjae does not have a custom-built room to store his bottles like Daehyun’s absinthe cabinet, thus the process may not go smoothly as he envisions it will. In the meantime, he has been crafting out an owl design for the logo.

Youngjae sieves out his sketches from a tattered file and bites back a smile. His absinthe will probably be nothing but an inferior speck as compared to the well-tuned concoctions Daehyun has brewed, but Youngjae still hopes nonetheless Daehyun will like it.

The sudden euphoria smears aside the daunting thoughts from before, Youngjae picking up a blunt pencil. The chilly mid-afternoon drizzles away into lead indents of round eyes and sienna feathers, till the ring of the doorbell promptly halts Youngjae in his ministrations.

Quickly stashing away his crumpled sheets, he paces to the door and welcomes Daehyun with a toothy smile. His boyfriend is clad in a gingham blue shirt and white jeans, sun-kissed skin contrasting gorgeously with the blanched polyester of his clothes.

“Hey.”

Daehyun wastes no time and latches their lips before Youngjae can churn out another syllable, mapping out Youngjae’s contours with his signature smirk. Youngjae twines his arms around Daehyun’s waist and smothers back a laugh.

“Hm, what’s a pretty thing like you doing at a place like this?” Daehyun purrs, savouring Youngjae’s flavour a second more before parting their lips. “You should be at my house, no?”

“That’s the best you could come up with?” Youngjae clicks his tongue, mustering up an unimpressed mien. “Are you saying my place is run-down?”

“Sassy. Your apartment’s a mess, so yes, it is run-down.” Daehyun pinches Youngjae’s nose and the younger man whines, rubbing at his sore spot. “Are you ready to go, darling?

“Yeah, just give me a moment. Take a seat anywhere you like.” Before spinning around, Youngjae runs a hand down Daehyun’s chest and coyly whispers, “You look handsome today.”

“Are you saying I don’t look handsome normally?” Daehyun calls after amusedly, Youngjae rummaging through the clutter on his table.

“Yup!” Youngjae enthusiastically answers, chortling when Daehyun rebounds with an uncouth snort.

“Your house smells like wormwood,” Daehyun notes as he enters, furrowing his brows and sniffing harder. He scrunches up his nose as he settles on Youngjae’s bed. “Why’s that?”

“I thought you’d be happy about it. You love absinthe so much.” Youngjae slips his folders into his backpack and crawls around for his other scattered recipes. He remains blissfully unaware of Daehyun’s leer, Daehyun indulging in the picturesque view of Youngjae’s bottom.

“Yes, but I don’t like you smelling of absinthe,” Daehyun clarifies. He picks up Youngjae’s pillow and buries his face into it without hesitance, inhaling deeply. “Your normal scent is much nicer.”

Youngjae hurls him a look of askance while Daehyun innocently peers back, consequently rubbing his nose into the fabric. Youngjae decidedly turns away and tosses in the last of his paraphernalia into his bag. He pockets his old phone and before he can sling his bag over his shoulder, Daehyun swipes it.

With an arm twined around Youngjae’s waist, Daehyun smoothly guides his boyfriend out of the apartment. He opens the door for Youngjae and plops the bag into the backseat, winding to the front.

Glimpsing out of the window, Youngjae’s eyes fall upon his neighbours a distance away, the mother and daughter pair ambling down the pavement. He politely waves to the daughter Hyesoo when he locks gazes with her just as Daehyun steers away, easing himself into the noon traffic.

“Your neighbours?” Daehyun questions.

Youngjae nods, belatedly replying in a lowered voice, “They’re mother and daughter. They were separated by the Korean war and reunited when the daughter coincidentally moved into the building.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.” Daehyun melts into a heartfelt simper, intertwining his free hand with Youngjae’s as he meanders across the expressway.

“It is. But the neighbours say the daughter’s a liar,” Youngjae murmurs, snugly grasping onto Daehyun’s crinkled hand. “That she’s not actually her daughter.”

“Oh. So, she’s cheating her of her money?”

“I don’t know,” Youngjae returns. “She doesn’t seem like that sort of person. The mother doesn’t have much on her. I think maybe she's just doing it to please that lady.”

“Well, if the daughter’s not doing it for her own gains, then she’s a very kind person,” Daehyun comments, flexing his fingers along the steering wheel.

“It’s hard to keep pretending. She must really value that woman’s happiness.”

Asphalt bleeds away into summer clouds and lush greenery, baby blue wrapping around the horizon. Daehyun sweeps Youngjae off his feet when they arrive and carries the laughing man into the bungalow bridal style. They spend a long while caught in each other’s lips before Daehyun vanishes into his art studio.

Late afternoon dwindles into a honey, marmalade evening. Youngjae spends the time fashioning new cocktails by the bar, imbibing in a daring synthesis of exotic flavours. Lapping up the pronounced taste of ginger and cherry, he scribbles a few remarks onto his notes, deciding to do away with the Campari.

As evening descends, Youngjae begins to cook dinner. He wastes several minutes gazing out at the sunset on the porch, adoring the lovely rose aura engulfing the neighbouring villas. When dusk finally settles, Daehyun’s voice simmers into his vivid reverie.

“Youngjae! Come into the bedroom.”

“Okay!” Youngjae places aside his drink and patters down the aisle, evanescent portraits flickering past his periphery. Daehyun is standing by the door with a crisp smile twirled over his crinkled cheeks.

“I want to show you something.”

The bedroom is engulfed in seven o’clock darkness, the fluorescent glare from the corridor illuminating the room through the gap. Daehyun leans forward and chastely links their lips.

“Close your eyes for a second, handsome,” he whispers, Youngjae obediently squinting them shut. Daehyun’s sonorous chuckle breezes against his lips and the faint mumble of  _how cute_ tapers off into their accented footsteps.

The door clicks shut behind them and Daehyun meshes their fingers, thumbing Youngjae’s lips in the darkness. “You can open them now.”

Youngjae flits open his lashes curiously, acute raven still gnawing up their every fibre. It is then a luminescence diffuses into the encapsulating black, Youngjae raising his head in surprise.

A gargantuan myriad of glossy photographs dangle from the corner wall in a circle, each frame pinned to the wall with a tungsten bulb. They are aligned along the acrylic painting of a Ferris wheel, combined iridescent glows crafting a warm aurora. Beneath the photos, a painted skyline of city lights melts into the starry night sky, lustrous glitter twinkling in the dark.

Youngjae gingerly steps towards the painting, raking his wide eyes over the numerous photos. They are mostly of him, majority taken from their vacation months ago. Youngjae turns to meet Daehyun’s misty eyes, the man donning a bashful simper.

“You know, I always thought artworks were more worthwhile, since you can create anything you want through it,” Daehyun hums. He glances to the coated wall with a thoughtful look.

“A photograph can’t be changed. It captures what happened at a moment—nothing more.”

Daehyun gently lifts a polaroid of Youngjae with the sheets just covering his privates, eyes dazed and hair sprawled out. The photo is from the night before Daehyun flew for his business trip. Daehyun had insisted on taking several photographs while they made love to make his time away less lonely.

“I honestly never knew photographs could be this beautiful,” Daehyun sincerely remarks, softness etched into his mien. He prods at another polaroid, this time of Youngjae nibbling on a popsicle.

“You can’t make a photograph up.” Daehyun concludes with a genuine smile, eyes crinkling along the sides. “All these moments are real. It’s… amazing.”

Youngjae twines his arms around Daehyun’s shoulders and lugs his boyfriend into an embrace. “You are amazing,” he breathes, squeezing tighter when Daehyun wraps his arms around his hips.

“Thank you, Daehyun. It’s so beautiful.” He pulls away slightly, veering his head back to revel in the array of alluring lights. Every scintillating spark has Youngjae’s heart palpitating a tad bit quicker, melting into the hold of a man with deep smile lines and almond eyes. Of naughty sweet nothings, adorable blunders every now and then, and a beloved earnestness underneath his poised composure.

“I’m glad.” An uncharacteristic bashfulness whelms Daehyun’s voice, relief permeating his irises. “I was nervous. I really wanted to make you happy.”

“You’ve made me more than happy,” Youngjae whispers, the apricot glow waning in the vigour of their lovelorn stares. However, the romantic ambience deflates when Daehyun’s stomach growls, Youngjae warmheartedly laughing.

After a dinner of toasty kimchi stew, they settle in bed, Daehyun resting his head in Youngjae’s lap. The dazzling display is switched on upon Youngjae’s request, a half of the master bedroom immerse in shadows.

“You know, I badly wanted to put in this one photo of you,” Daehyun shares, scrolling through the photo gallery on his DSLR.

“Which one?” Youngjae questions curiously, threading his fingers through Daehyun’s ruffled hair. Daehyun proffers the camera to Youngjae and the bartender instantly flushes, pushing the screen away with narrowed eyes.

Daehyun grins impishly, absolutely no remorse in his bared teeth. He continues gazing at the explicit photograph of Youngjae with his legs spread open, white spilling from both his hole and his limp length. Brushing a finger over the digital image, Daehyun smugly admires the rose blush blooming on Youngjae’s face.

“It’s my favourite. It was my companion every night during my business trip to Jeju,” Daehyun proudly announces, ducking when Youngjae attempts to smack him. He rolls back onto Youngjae’s lap and continues clicking through the photos elatedly.

“Can you go one day without touching yourself?” Youngjae snorts, repressed embarrassment lacing his words.

“You spoilt me, so can I honestly be blamed? It’s your fault.” Daehyun extends a hand and cups Youngjae’s jaw. “Take responsibility. You have to always be by my side so I can make love to you every day.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes and squeezes Daehyun’s cheeks, Daehyun emitting a loud whine. “You talk so much nonsense. What kind of demand is that?”

“The Daehyun kind,” Daehyun declares with every inch of brazen confidence in him. “Hey. You caused the problem, so I get to make the demands.”

“You make it hard for me to walk so often but you don’t see me yelling to be carried around,” Youngjae rebounds.

“I don’t mind.” Daehyun finds Youngjae’s hands and places them on his head once more, contentedly shutting his eyes when Youngjae strokes his hair. “To be honest, I’m surprised you don’t request for that. I mean…”

Daehyun gestures hintingly to his groin with an arched brow. Youngjae squints at him and heaves in utmost disbelief.

“It’s not even that big,” Youngjae puffs, casting Daehyun an insolent expression.

“What a lie.” Daehyun nestles his face into Youngjae’s shirt, lifting up the garment after a moment’s thought. He snuggles blithely into Youngjae’s stomach and guffaws when Youngjae shivers.

Youngjae pokes Daehyun’s chest and intones boldly, “I’ve seen bigger.”

Instantly, Daehyun halts in his cat-like endeavour, peeking out of Youngjae’s shirt with an indignant countenance. “Who?”

“He was so much better in bed too,” Youngjae sighs, ignoring his lover and conjuring up the dreamiest look he can muster. Daehyun’s nostrils comically flare and he sits up, locking eyes with Youngjae in offense.

“Are you saying I’m not good in bed?”

Youngjae purses his lips and waves his hand after deliberation, cheekily stating, “So-so.”

Daehyun immediately pounces on Youngjae and latches the man down onto the bed by the wrists. “I’ll have to show you you’re wrong, gorgeous.”

He swiftly begins to tickle Youngjae and the man beneath shrieks in hysterical laughter, attempting to escape Daehyun’s unsparing fingers. “I’m joking! I’m joking!”

“If you had just told the truth from the start, maybe you wouldn’t have to suffer like this,” Daehyun sniggers. He mercifully lets up on his boyfriend who has tears pooling along his lashes and flings himself down beside Youngjae.

They compose themselves from their bout of caramel chortles, Youngjae inching over and moulding their lips passionately. Daehyun tenderly lays Youngjae against his chest, this time opting to gaze at the real life model himself rather than skim through flat photographs.

“I tried to draw a portrait of you smiling at first but I couldn’t get it right,” Daehyun confesses. “You looked a lot happier in the photographs than on paper. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think you mean less because I didn’t sketch you.”

“I won’t, Daehyun. I mean it when I say I’m really happy with what you made. And most of all, thankful,” Youngjae says faintly, resting comfortably as he counts to the rhythm of Daehyun’s heartbeat. “It’s stunning.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Daehyun entwines their hands, the couple deliquescing in a fragile atmosphere of lantern lights.

“When I was looking through the photos, it felt really nice,” Daehyun muses in a lowered voice. “We did those things together. We had fun; we were happy.”

He presses his cheek against Youngjae’s hair, lifting up their interlaced hands to peer at them. “It’s nice. For our happiness to be real. For you to be real.”

Daehyun chuckles quietly and emanates a lengthy breath. “Sorry. I’m not making sense. You probably think I’m out of my mind,” he hoarsely churns out.

Youngjae squeezes Daehyun’s hand firmly. “Don’t be afraid to tell me what you’re thinking, Daehyun,” Youngjae soothes assuringly. “I’ll always want to know how you feel.”

A precious, topaz smile falls upon the edge of Youngjae’s skin, silence swaddling the couple.

“When it came to her, we were never happy here,” Daehyun reminisces. “We exiled this place to be only misery. After a while, I just came to think we could never be happy without the drugs. Without our imaginary palace, where we could make sure everything went the way we wanted it to.”

“I became numb to disappointment with the drugs. Things didn’t have to go well here, since we could always fix what was broken in our minds. As long as we had the powder, there was nothing to stop us—I could always make her happy.”

Daehyun runs his thumb over the promise ring on Youngjae’s pinky, mapping out the diamond-crusted infinity. They submerge in melancholic peacefulness, the pair warmly laid against one another.

“I don’t know how to love you here when I can’t guarantee things will go the way you hope for,” Daehyun admits softly. “Whenever we fight, I always feel like I’ve ruined everything. You’ll be disappointed with how things went, with who I am, and you’ll leave. Why stay in a broken dream where nothing comes out right?”

When the stillness capsizes and Daehyun leaves the conversation untouched, Youngjae climbs out of Daehyun’s hold and sits on the man’s lap. The pensive wistfulness does not show Youngjae any generosity. He swallows back the upsurge in his throat and rallies a smile for the both of them.

“That’s the beauty of disenchantment, Daehyun,” Youngjae whispers. “Things may not turn out as great as you hope them to be, but you learn to find happiness in new places.”

“I didn’t get into a relationship with you expecting you to keep me satisfied all the time. We’re together because I want to be there with you through hard times and happy times.” He places his hands on Daehyun’s shoulders and their earnest eyes fall upon one another.

“I love you not because you can make me happy. It’s because  _you_  make me happy.”

The warm room frames into a sphere of serenity, Daehyun tightly winding his arms around Youngjae’s waist. They remain in each other’s hold for a long while, intimately basking in the tempo of one another’s familiar breathing, till a jarring ringtone rips through the air.

Youngjae whips his head towards the source, recognising the racket to be that of his old phone. He apologetically clambers off Daehyun’s lap and says, “It’s mine.”

Padding to his backpack, Youngjae retrieves his phone and peers down at the caller ID. He bites his lower lip as the memory of Jaebum’s admonishing words flings back at him. As the piercing rings go on, the reluctance draws a nerve-racking noose around his neck, his thumb hovering over the answer button.

Even if he doesn’t pick up this one, he will have to answer one day. It’s better to do it now rather than let Inna worry and pry. Youngjae decidedly steps out of the house, hesitantly picking up the call.

“Hello?” The delicate, unmistakable voice wheezes over the line. Youngjae pauses momentarily before finding his words.

“Inna,” he begins in an abnormally shrivelled voice. He reminds himself that unless his family decided to spring a highly unlikely impromptu trip to his university, it’s impossible for them to realise he had dropped out a year ago.

“Youngjae, your phone’s fixed,” Inna chuckles. An awkward beat materialises too soon and Inna clears her throat. “How is college going for you? I heard from Jaebum your finals are coming up.”

“It’s alright. And yeah, they are,” Youngjae returns timidly, an uncharacteristic lump in his throat. He abandoned his studies for his dream; there is no reason for him to act like a convict.

“Work hard. You’ve only got a year left from now before you graduate.” Inna shifts the phone audibly, continuing, “Are you coming back for the new year? Ma has grown some bitter gourd plants at home.”

“She has?” Youngjae returns, glimpsing out to the shimmers of the swimming pool.

Inna hums. “Yeah. My delivery date is near the new year as well so I hope you come back to visit, even though you’re busy. Seungho is coming home too.”

“I’ll try. The exams are getting tougher,” Youngjae murmurs, somehow hoping the softness of his volume makes up for his blatant lie.

“It must be really hard on you, being a scholar and all,” Inna sympathises. Youngjae can almost picture her tender smile, that which perpetually painted her as undoubtedly the big sister of the family.

“Well, I shan’t disturb you anymore. Good luck for your exams,” Inna cajoles warmly.

“Take care, Inna.”

The beeping noise blares in his ear and he stares at the call details scrawled onto the screen, his stomach stirring in a nauseating manner. He spends a good few minutes rewinding the conversation in his head before plodding back into the villa. Switching off his old phone, he buries it in the bottom of his bag and strides into the bedroom.

“Who was that?” Daehyun queries, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Just a friend,” Youngjae dismisses as he cosily settles back onto the mattress. He burrows into the comforter and Daehyun slips underneath, both barely able to make each other out in the dimness.

“Friend?” Daehyun persists. “What were you guys talking about?

“Yeah, friend. It was only small talk,” Youngjae yawns. “Daehyun, I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

The lapse of wordlessness that follows cuts off with a husky sigh, Daehyun reaching out and managing to properly grasp Youngjae’s cheek.

“I want to know what’s on your mind, Youngjae.” He blindly edges forward and Youngjae discerns the punctured charcoal of Daehyun’s eyes, his exhale thick over his chapped lips. “You always tell me to be truthful but you like to hide things from me.”

“I’m not hiding things,” Youngjae mumbles, wanting to escape when Daehyun places a sturdy arm over his petite hips.

“If you’re not hiding things, you’d have told me who it was without any sort of hesitance,” Daehyun points out, disappointed heave scratching out worse in Youngjae. “I want to respect your privacy but I want to be a part of your life too, Youngjae.”

They hold an amusingly invisible stare-off beneath the sheets, Daehyun ultimately inclining forward to peck Youngjae’s lips. He coaxes, “Tell me.”

Nudged into Daehyun’s chest, Youngjae lets out in fatigue, “It was my sister. She only called to check in and ask if I was coming back for the new year. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell me that from the start?” Daehyun sternly asks, a tinge of accusation coursing through his words. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t think it was important,” Youngjae protests. “I’m sorry.”

Daehyun halts for a fleeting second before he quietly murmurs, “Were you afraid I’d ask to come along?”

“No, Daehyun,” Youngjae hastily clarifies, nudging the quilt off them and sitting up to face Daehyun straight. “I just…”

Eventually, he spews out a ragged breath, coiling his fingers through the seams of his shirt. “I haven’t told my family I quit college and became a bartender, so I’d rather not bring them up. It gives me a headache.”

Daehyun flutters his eyelashes. “You haven’t?”

“Yeah,” Youngjae replies as he twiddles his fingers. “It’s a small matter; I’m thinking about how to tell them. I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“Oh.” Daehyun’s posture softens and he apologetically takes Youngjae’s hand. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s alright, Daehyun. It’s not a big deal. I haven’t gotten around to doing it because I’m lazy,” Youngjae chuckles.

“Do your parents mind you working as a bartender?” A flash of regret scribbles over Daehyun’s expression. Youngjae hurriedly waves away the question.

“They probably don’t. Yeah, I’m going to get scolded, but that’s expected for most people,” Youngjae assures, beaming cheekily at his boyfriend. “I’d like to put that off as much as I can, though.”

He tumbles back down onto the mattress and clips the bolster between his leg, tugging at Daehyun’s sleeve. “Come on; let’s go to sleep. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

Daehyun peers at Youngjae for an instant or so, the latter wrapped up in white linens. He starts, “Youngjae, if there’s anything wrong, you can always confide in me. Remember that, okay?”

 “I will.” Youngjae takes the remote control and switches off the display’s lights, finding Daehyun’s warmth amidst the bundle of blankets. Their lips seal as a goodnight ritual, no sting of absinthe puncturing Youngjae’s taste buds.

“Please don’t lie to me again,” Daehyun breathes lowly when they part, pressing his nose into Youngjae’s hair. “I don’t like it when you lie, no matter if it’s for my sake.”

“Okay,” Youngjae answers and clasps their hands together affectionately. He indulges in the coarse fabric of Daehyun’s palm over his jaw, caressing with a tenderness equal to that of handling tulips.

As slumber gnaws at the rim of Youngjae’s eyelids, he hears the remnants of Daehyun’s voice disperse into sand. “The whole world can lie to me, but just not you.”

“You can’t lie to me either,” Youngjae groggily slurs, shutting his eyes when Daehyun presses his lips to his temple.

“Okay,” Daehyun promises with a slow chuckle.

Youngjae’s garble of a reply foams away into that of a barren reverie. Paper lanterns begins to fall into the darkness Youngjae resides in, glows morphing into buzzing fireflies.

He awakes to 3AM blues and chirping cicadas, the other half of the bed deserted. Youngjae blearily clutches onto vacant sheets and gets up, trudging around the house in search of Daehyun. He half-heartedly glimpses into several rooms before stepping towards the absinthe cabinet, turning the knob.

It’s locked. Youngjae fumbles with it for a while more and calls out, “Daehyun?”

Receiving no reply, Youngjae veers around and pads towards the living room, weaving through the corridor with growing worry till he hears a door creak. Daehyun emerges from his absinthe cabinet, batting his lashes at the man slouched in the hallway.

“Daehyun, what are you doing?” Youngjae blubbers, voice high-pitched from the slumber still nipping at his consciousness. The ticking of the clock ricochets through the house.

“Putting away my absinthe,” Daehyun surmises, taking Youngjae by the wrist and guiding him back into the bedroom. “I’m sorry I left.”

“It’s okay,” Youngjae whispers, plopping back onto the bed with Daehyun’s arms secure around him.

That night, he dreams of tungsten lights chasing away grassy smoke.


	13. Chapter 13

Sweet morning nestles against Youngjae’s skin along with a tepid warmth. Youngjae wakes up from a dream of faded green to Daehyun’s snores, melting into a soft laugh as he curls up to his side.

After a while, he escapes Daehyun’s clutches and washes up. The brief recollection of the previous night foams into his mind. It was almost 3AM when he realised Daehyun was gone from the bed, having been putting away his absinthe. Youngjae heaves to himself, guessing that Daehyun must have been drinking in secret.

He cooks a light meal of congee for Daehyun and slices up some strawberries and mangoes. Placing the fruits in the fridge, he settles at the coffee table, working on the design of his absinthe in the living room. He has never been good at drawing, but the owl logo seems to be coming along nicely. For a moment, he wonders if he should honestly be encouraging Daehyun to drink more, but decides he could lower the alcohol content instead to make it somewhat healthier.

Daehyun only emerges when it’s noon, groggily padding over to his boyfriend and stealing a kiss. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“You’ve got morning breath,” Youngjae giggles, swiftly clearing his things from the floor and scooting them away from Daehyun’s sight. “You have to eat lighter meals today, so it doesn’t upset your stomach too much.”

Daehyun briefly glances to the pile of papers now shoved to the side. “Hm? Why?”

“You were drinking late last night, right?” Youngjae returns, putting his papers back into his file.

“I wasn’t, dear.” Daehyun blinks in confusion as he sits down beside Youngjae.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Youngjae hums absentmindedly. He shoves his file into his bag and almost gets up to serve the congee when Daehyun stops him.

“I really didn’t, Youngjae. I swear. Why do you think that?” Daehyun widens his eyes, a frown simmering in quickly.

“What were you doing last night in your absinthe cellar, then?” Youngjae questions curiously.

“Checking the bottles,” Daehyun fills in. “My absinthe tasted weird yesterday morning so I was afraid there was something wrong with the batch. I didn’t have the time to check them since I was working on your surprise.”

“Oh… Sorry. You should have checked first. My gift could wait,” Youngjae says, gently thumbing his boyfriend’s eye circles. “You’re so tired now.” Now that Youngjae recalls, he didn’t catch the scent of wormwood clinging to his boyfriend.

“It’s nothing.” Daehyun lowers Youngjae’s arm and envelopes the bartender in a snug embrace. He sighs against Youngjae’s neck, “I told you, right? Your happiness means more to me than anything else.”

“Even alcohol poisoning?” Youngjae puffs, earning himself a poke in his side.

Daehyun goes to brush his teeth before joining Youngjae at the dining table, slurping up chicken congee. He seems oddly mirthful, scooping up a second helping for himself.

“I didn’t know you liked congee so much,” Youngjae laughs, munching on his toast.

“I never knew myself. It feels rather homely.” Daehyun lifts his gaze and offers a soft smile.

“Let’s go to work together later, sweetheart,” he continues. “There’ll be a few potential investors coming over at ten, just to let you know.”

“Okay. Good luck,” Youngjae bubbles. Daehyun wastes a moment peering at his boyfriend before melting in to an amused smile.

“You don’t have to wish me luck. I’m already the luckiest man in the world,” Daehyun drawls, casting Youngjae a sleazy smirk. “Since I have you.”

Youngjae squints at the gleeful man and ignores his comment. “Are they the same ones from Jeju?”

“Yeah. They want to take one last look at Cosmopolitan before deciding,” Daehyun provides. “One of them was saying they want to give Cosmopolitan a Korean name, since it might be hard for people to pronounce.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Youngjae nibbles on his eggs, toying with the spilled yolk. “Were you the one who came up with the name?”

“Mm. Himchan taught me that word,” Daehyun reminisces. “I asked him to find something pretty that meant something along the lines of  _‘for everyone’_.”

“That’s sweet,” Youngjae returns fondly. He fleetingly remembers Himchan’s description of Daehyun when he was younger, that of a boy who loved and gave to others more so than his circumstances ever did.

Daehyun suppresses a grin and exhales, “Unfortunately, the name isn’t as fitting as now, so I might consider a name change.” He takes a sip from his glass and inquisitively asks, “I saw you were drawing something just now. What was it?”

“Nothing,” Youngjae hums, cheekily squiggling his shoulders. Daehyun spares him a long look before lifting his foot, rubbing at Youngjae’s calf underneath the table.

“Remember what I said yesterday?” Daehyun reminds, persistently playing footsie with his boyfriend. Youngjae attempts to kick aside Daehyun’s legs and the two begin wrestling beneath the polished glass.

“Fine. It’s not nothing, but I can’t tell you what it is,” Youngjae answers easily. He knocks away Daehyun’s foot and rises from his seat, washing the dishes.

“You have so many secrets,” Daehyun sighs lightly, tailing his lover and pecking down his neck. “I’d like to know where’s the key to unlock this secret trove of yours.” He gently gyrates his hips against Youngjae’s plump butt and snickers, “Perhaps it’s the one in my trousers?”

“You have the gift of turning everything dirty somehow,” Youngjae deadpans. He nonetheless allows Daehyun to continue his ministrations, supplying, “It’s a surprise for you; that’s why I can’t tell.”

“Aw, angel... There’s no need to,” Daehyun coos. He licks the shell of Youngjae’s ear and sneaks a hand up the man’s loose shirt. “You’ve made me excited now.”

“What kind of ‘excited’ are you talking about?” Youngjae reaches behind to caress Daehyun’s jaw, feeling down the acne scars embedded into Daehyun’s skin.

“The kind that makes me want to take you against the kitchen counter,” Daehyun breathes lowly. His hand wanders down south and cups Youngjae’s crotch, squeezing sensually. Youngjae doesn’t bother shooing him away and instead, reciprocates with a sloppy kiss.

Minutes after, their clothes are pooled on the kitchen floor, Youngjae pinned against the counter as they delve into a stubborn lip lock. Their tongues meld to a lovely rhythm as the couple breathe in a sweet intoxication of one another. Daehyun’s fingers has Youngjae coming undone, the bartender wheezing harshly as Daehyun plays teasingly with Youngjae’s swelled prostate.

When Youngjae convulses, Daehyun eagerly swallows up Youngjae’s cum, lapping up every drip till Youngjae is utterly dry. He gives the man a few minutes to come down from his blooming orgasm while massaging Youngjae’s hipbones.

Eventually, Daehyun enters Youngjae from behind, pumping his boyfriend’s soft length as he steadily pounds in. They simmer into an utopic bliss, Daehyun admiring the white trailing down his boyfriend’s thighs and the obscene streaks of Youngjae’s milk on the wall.

Deciding one round isn’t enough, Daehyun swoops Youngjae into his arms and drops him onto the bed, once more exploring the man’s lean body. Admiring the sight of Youngjae on his knees with his butt shyly raised in the air, Daehyun bides his time, thrusting routinely into the younger man till they collapse into a debris of shaking pleasure.

Daehyun pulls out of Youngjae, scooping some of his cum from Youngjae’s puckered hole and smearing it over the dazed man’s lips. They nuzzle noses and Daehyun rests his cheek against Youngjae’s back.

“We didn’t get to use the dress today,” Daehyun pants, fondling Youngjae’s slim thighs with a mellow touch. “I really wanted to see you wear it.”

Youngjae’s fingers are still trembling from the sheer intensity of his multiple orgasms. He rolls over and nudges Daehyun, murmuring, “I’ll look weird.” He licks Daehyun’s cum up from his lips, somehow finding gratification in the bitterness.

“You said that about the stockings too, but it still brings me so many wet dreams,” Daehyun chuckles lewdly. “Those pretty legs of yours are to die for, darling. There isn’t a thing I like to spread more than them.”

Youngjae purses his lips and squeezes Daehyun’s bicep. “I like your arms. They’re sexy,” he offers, igniting a melodious laughter from his boyfriend.

Their afternoon froths with red velvet cocoa over the aftertaste of rain, the couple indulging in movies while Daehyun huddles into Youngjae’s chest. After a simple dinner of steamed fish delivered to their doorstep, they prepare to set off for work.

Youngjae rummages through his bag to check if he has left anything behind. Daehyun adjusts his maroon striped tie by the side, offering, “Need any help, handsome?”

“It’s alright.” Youngjae furrows his brows at this instant, ransacking for his old phone to no avail. He vaguely recollects dropping it into his backpack after the phone call—or was that when he was at his apartment?

“Daehyun, have you seen my phone?”

“Hm? Your phone?” Daehyun questions, glimpsing over at Youngjae as he neatens out his collar. In his marine suit, he frames an impeccable, ravishing charisma.

“Yeah. I brought my old phone along to look at some messages,” Youngjae provides, searching around the living room. “It’s a Sony model. Blue and kind of small.”

“Oh, I haven’t,” Daehyun apologetically replies. He dusts off his attire and offers readily, “I’ll help you look for it. You go change first.”

Nodding, Youngjae ambles to the room, grabbing his uniform from the cupboard. He jogs his memory for places he could have left his phone, gelling his hair slickly and spraying a dash of Daehyun’s cologne over himself. He might have accidentally brought it with him to the bedroom after answering Inna’s call.

Combing down his hair, he hears Daehyun’s call from outside. “Youngjae! I found your phone. It was under the pillow.”

“Thanks, Daehyun!” He chides himself inwardly for being so careless, hurrying out in case Daehyun steals a peek at his messages. He finds Daehyun sitting on the sofa, juggling the phone between his hands while sporting an adorable pout.

Youngjae’s phone is switched off, much to his relief. He lovingly kisses Daehyun’s cheek as thanks and dumps his mobile into his bag, following his boyfriend to the car.

They stream past lush, artificial greenery into crisp properties, the couple intertwining their hands firmly to the tempo of avant-garde bossa nova.

“Let’s go on a holiday in January,” Daehyun mentions, kissing Youngjae’s knuckles one by one. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere is nice. You choose.” Youngjae pauses and faintly utters, “I’m just happy to go with you.”

“Has my cheesiness rubbed off on you?” Daehyun laughs, pressing a lengthy, sloppy kiss to Youngjae’s wrist. “I’m happy to go anywhere with you too, beautiful.”

“I might be going back home for the new year, though,” Youngjae raises in a defeated wheeze.

“You are?” Daehyun inquires. “Would you like me to send you there?”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll come back early to celebrate with you too. I promise,” Youngjae assures.

“You don’t have to, love.” Daehyun licks his lips and probes gingerly, “Are you going to tell them about your job?”

“Yeah.” Youngjae blinks, amusedly looking over. “You make it sound like it’s such a big thing.”

Their conversation withers into an unassuming jazz piece. Youngjae watches as the road vanishes beneath Daehyun’s prim Lamborghini.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun breathes, breaching the romantic misery spilling from the radio. He squeezes Youngjae’s hand lightly.

“I know you’re not the type to talk much about yourself, but I want you to know that I’m always here for you. Even if I’m not the best person to hear about it, I’ll always be here to listen.”

The seriousness in his voice is uncompromised by his usual teasing. Daehyun steers to a stop at the traffic junction, pitter patter decorating the windscreen. The city lights diffuse into the puddles along the asphalt.

“I’m not smart, nor have I gone through the same things you have, since I’ve never really had a family or properly went through school,” Daehyun quietly admits. “But I love you. I want you to know that I’ll do whatever it takes to make things better for you.”

“Daehyun, don’t say that about yourself,” Youngjae returns in consternation. “It’s just a small matter, honest. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Daehyun curls his lips, wrinkles forming along his cheeks. “Well, I trust you. Just remember what I said,” he sighs, rubbing his boyfriend’s palm delicately.

Youngjae nods, losing his gaze in the blisters of high-class Seoul over the windshield. It is a lie that it isn’t a big matter to him, but he doesn’t want Daehyun to worry—especially when Daehyun was the one who offered him his bartender job. After all, he’s the one that’s blowing the situation out of proportion.

His eyelids fall tiredly at the thought of his brother, Jiho. Like his other siblings, Jiho was a scholar—even better than the rest of them with his athletic track record and his violin awards. Youngjae had looked upon him in disdain for throwing away everything for some idiotic underground music career. Who knew that in less than a decade, he would follow in his footsteps?

He can still remember the cane strokes digging into Jiho’s back. Youngjae keeps in a sigh and lets the quietness engulf him, a tender orchestral piece dripping from the radio. He opens his eyes when he hears Daehyun sigh.

“…I’ve never met a person who has made me feel this insecure,” Daehyun breathes lightly, the words startling Youngjae. Daehyun firmly intertwines their hands, one hand lax on the steering wheel.

“When I was with my first love, I was nothing but a broke, orphaned bartender. I couldn’t give her anything she wanted. Not money, not fame, not the luxuries she wanted.” Daehyun smiles, his words contradicting the fond nostalgia in his eyes. “It was because of me she had to pretend to have all that.”

“Even with her, who looked down on me though I loved her then...” Daehyun exhales lengthily, his lips curling further. “I’ve never felt this way.” He bats his lashes languidly and cruises to a stop at the junction, meeting Youngjae’s eyes softly.

“Daehyun…” Youngjae guiltily starts, urgency seeping into his tone. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to worry over something so trivial.”

“It’s not trivial if it bothers you,” Daehyun heaves. His fingers slip away from Youngjae’s clasp and he drives off as the green light burns against the windscreen.

Silence forges a wall between them as every minute passes, Daehyun’s irises hollow and leaden. The quietness crawls up Youngjae’s neck and almost suffocates him, his fingers clutching at his pants.

They soon arrive at Cosmopolitan, streaming into the car park. Daehyun steers into a lot and kills the engine, taking his keys. Amidst the wordlessness, Youngjae raises his gaze uncertainly and breathes, “Are you mad?”

Daehyun turns to him and blinks, his eyes softening. “I’m not.”

“I just don’t know what to say about it,” Youngjae murmurs. “I don’t even know what to think about it myself.”

Daehyun caresses Youngjae’s cheeks and melds their lips together for a moment. “I understand,” he placates, hugging Youngjae and nestling his nose into his neck.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so pushy. I just… felt so inadequate.” His breath tickles, his sigh trailing over Youngjae’s skin. “I love you so much it drives me crazy sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.” Youngjae coils his arms around Daehyun’s shoulders gently. “You shouldn’t feel inadequate. Just look at yourself. You’re the owner of one of the best bars in Seoul while I’m just your bartender.”

“Is that why you’re dating me?” Daehyun questions jokingly.

Youngjae jests back, “No. I like my men a little more average.” He kisses Daehyun’s cheek and whispers, “I love you. I’ll always think you’re amazing, no matter what.”

“Cheesy. You’ve learnt well.” Daehyun’s tongue drags over Youngjae’s neck and he nibbles fervently, leaving a hickey in his wake.

“You’re my weakness, sweetheart. My Achilles’ heel.” He whispers into the man’s skin. Youngjae nudges him off and chuckles at him, inspecting the love bite in the mirror.

“Are you trying to get me fired?” He pulls up his collar to hide the mark.

“Last I remembered, I was your boss.” Daehyun cocks a brow cheekily.

“You’re not the only one with a say in my employment. The customers do too.” Youngjae slips out of the car, Daehyun swiftly joining his side and wrapping an arm around his waist.

They enter the bar to the vivacious, warm chatter of the Cosmopolitan staff, tables set and every inch spick and span. The trio of girls wave heartily while Himchan hurriedly shushes them.

“Himchan was just gossiping about you two!” Jieun exclaims merrily.

“No, I wasn’t!” Himchan glares at the waitress and hurriedly scurries out, enveloping the couple in a loose embrace. “Don’t listen to her. She’s envious that you two like me so much.”

“But I like Jieun more than you,” Youngjae comments. Himchan lets out a brash gasp and tugs at Youngjae’s collar.

“After all I’ve done for you?”

“Youngjae, you’re a smart guy!” Hyosung yells. “That idiot just spilled about your fight with Daehyun.”

Himchan widens his eyes in absolute panic and begins stammering. “T-They kept asking me about it! Hyosung wanted to know since Daehyun kept spamming her about you,” he hastily fires back. “I didn’t want to tell but they made me do it.”

“Don’t worry. He didn’t say anything bad,” Jieun assures, sliding back against the couch. “You two are such drama queens. Who the hell drops everything and flies home over a little misunderstanding?”

“Don’t be envious you don’t have a boyfriend like that, Jieun,” Hana laughs, earning herself a rough nudge in the shoulder.

“Youngjae, did he really do that? I mean, Daehyun’s rich and all but he’s not such a big shot. Won’t he lose his deals?” Hyosung asks. “I can’t believe he jeopardised the future of Cosmopolitan for you. How inconsiderate.”

“You guys are asking to be fired, huh?” Daehyun raises his voice. “You’re right, Hyosung. I’m rich—rich enough to replace all of you.”

The staff scatter when Daehyun sternly asks them to prepare for the coming investors, Youngjae assuming his post behind the bar. It’s lovely to see the behind-the-scenes of such a class establishment, laughter and crude jokes rampant against an absent backdrop of heavy saxophones. Every nook and cranny wears an adoring gold tint with the lukewarm lights, glow tinkling in the reflection of the wine glasses.

Youngjae refills the empty spirit bottles along with Junhong, the bar back doing his work diligently by Youngjae’s side. Daehyun swipes a kiss from Youngjae before he enters the office, Junhong awkwardly slipping back into the storage.

Daehyun allows Junhong to go home after peak hours, since it’s less busy after 1AM and Youngjae and the other servers can get what they need themselves. However, Junhong still remains throughout the night, usually playing games on his phone when he’s bored. After he enrolled in classes to prepare for his high school degree, Daehyun had the storage reorganised and placed a desk inside for Junhong to do his homework.

As Youngjae wipes the counter, Hana slides up to the bar, clacking her polished nails against the marble structure. She coyly smiles and questions, “Can you whip me up something with just a bit of alcohol? I want a buzz but Daehyun doesn’t let me get wasted while I’m working.” She ends off with a pout.

“I doubt any boss would let you do that,” Youngjae chuckles. “Wanna try one of mine?”

“Give me your best,” Hana declares.

Youngjae grabs the St-Germain and sparkling rose, pouring some large ice cubes into a glass. Four parts sparkling rose, one part elderflower liquor, a dash of peychaud’s bitters. Youngjae prods over the translucent pink concoction, donning it with a lime along the rim.

“It’s watered down but not too much. I usually add lime juice but I don’t think you’d want the taste to stay in your mouth,” Youngjae remarks, clinking the large ice cubes with a straw. “And here, this will limit your intake at one go,” he jokes.

Hana playfully pinches Youngjae’s hand, proceeding to take a sip. She smacks her lips in satisfaction. “Wow, you always know how to hit that spot. You should add this to the menu.”

Hana inspects the pigmentation of the cocktail and mentions, “It’ll be a big hit with the ladies. I remember Daehyun’s  _Cocktail for a Princess_ —itwas pink too and the girls loved it. Too bad he left the drink behind with the old Cosmopolitan.”

Youngjae curiously asks, “What was inside it?”

“I can’t remember, but I know he’d always put the smallest limes in. Like the whole Princess and the Pea thing,” she laughs. “It was so cute.”

The two of them glance behind when Himchan yells incoherently. They find him in Yongguk’s chokehold, the two men wrestling with one another.

“They’re twenty-six and they still act like they’re five,” Hana scoffs, grabbing a lime and tossing it at the two. Yongguk flinches at the sudden aerial attack and Himchan seizes the chance to escape, strangling Yongguk instead. Thankfully, Jongup manages to pick up the lime without getting into the fray, throwing it into the bin.

Hana veers her eyes back to Youngjae with a small smile. “So, I heard these two brought you somewhere to clear your doubts.”

Youngjae lowers his head in embarrassment. “Yeah. It was nothing big; I was being stupid. I didn’t expect they’d go that far.”

“Well, Himchan and Yongguk really think you and Daehyun are a good match. They’ll try to help fix any misunderstanding if it’s within their limits,” Hana comments. “After that whole saga with Daehyun and his commitment issues, you’re the first he’s serious about, so.”

“I’m thankful for them.” Youngjae churns out a small smile, placing back the liquors he’d taken out.

“You are? I wouldn’t be.” Hana takes a long slurp and sighs, “These two don’t know how not to butt into other people’s businesses.” She squeezes the cut lime and juice trickles into the cocktail, Hana plopping the lime into her drink.

“They’re Daehyun’s friends at the end of the day, so they’re going to side with him,” she scoffs while imbibing her cocktail, sparing a glance at the two still clowning around. “Let Daehyun clear it up himself next time. No real man needs his friends to explain for him.”

“True that.” Youngjae grins. “Are you going to finish the whole glass?”

“Yeah. Makes it easier to be nice to the customers,” Hana says airily, stirring a laugh from Youngjae.

Today’s jazz lounge classics frame a lovely scene of New York in the making, eventide trailing crisply along the streets. Of course, it mutes away the tumultuous traffic and the rough shoves in a hard and fast city. Of five o’clock mornings too, with cramped apartments, sewer rats and a hatred for the tragedy-ridden newspapers.

What is left behind is only the rose-tinted views of coffee on a suite’s balcony, along with the artificial city auroras. These people admire the bustle of metropolitans as they are not part of the background—the hunched-over worker in the skyscraper office, sitting behind one of those dazzling square windows; the exhausted taxi driver in that rushing scenery; the crowds dreadfully crammed in the iconic buses passing by.

When the jazz speaks, Cosmopolitan breathes a new atmosphere where the staff do their utmost best to meet the backdrop’s flavour. The guests drizzle a Brooklyn over their tongues while they sit in a romanticised Empire State, forgetting the troubles of their hometown lingering outside.  _Rye, vermouth, Maraschino liqueur, Amer Picon._

Only the rich can afford to bluff themselves, Youngjae thinks as his eyes glaze over branded cuff links and bangles. His eyes flicker over to the shut VIP room where Daehyun and his investors now sit in, before his attention cuts away to the customer in front of him.

“A Manhattan, please.”

 

\--

 

One humid afternoon, Youngjae hurries out to the main road to flag a taxi. The traffic is fortunately sparse, easing some of Youngjae’s anxiousness. He had leapt out of bed once his boyfriend solemnly asked for him to come over, throwing on a barely presentable shirt before barrelling out of the house. Daehyun had not said much but his voice reeked of blue, uncharacteristic of his chronic cheesiness.

The ride is short yet long enough for Youngjae’s conjectures to brim. As he fumbles with the digital lock, he belatedly realises the door is unlocked just as Daehyun pulls it open.

“Dae-”

Daehyun abruptly engulfs Youngjae in an embrace, cutting away Youngjae’s words. His grip is relentless as he nestles his face into Youngjae’s chest, as though finding a home within Youngjae’s collarbones.

Youngjae’s posture softens and his hands find their way onto Daehyun’s back. “What happened?” He asks softly.

Daehyun nuzzles into Youngjae further. “I told Junhong about his father yesterday,” Daehyun murmurs, melancholy battered into his words. His face is etched with paleness, creeping into his skin and drawing out his dark eye circles.

Youngjae lets out a breath and holds Daehyun tighter, soothingly stroking the man’s back. He leads Daehyun to the bed and Daehyun curls up comfortably in Youngjae’s hold, resting tiredly against his boyfriend. The stench of absinthe drips heavily from Daehyun with a menthol bite prominent in the air. Along with it, cigarette smoke burns into Daehyun’s lips.

It was a long time ago where Daehyun first divulged Junhong’s initial situation back home. Back then, Youngjae had advised Daehyun to tell Junhong about his father’s death as early as he could. Youngjae never brought up the incident again since he figured it was not his place to. He was after all a newcomer, while there lived years between Daehyun and Junhong.

Silence settles with a poignant gloom over the two now in the bedroom, Youngjae tenderly caressing Daehyun’s shoulder. It’s known thoroughly among the Cosmopolitan staff that Daehyun loves Junhong with all his heart. Like a father, he wants only the best for him.

“I can’t forget the way he looked at me, Youngjae,” Daehyun wheezes. “He looked so crushed. All that sadness… I felt like I took everything away from him at that moment.”

He buries his face into Youngjae’s side, searching for comfort. “And then the sadness turned into so much hatred. For me,” he strains. “He just kept screaming at me, asking why I didn’t tell him earlier. Why I hid it from him for so long.”

“Daehyun,” Youngjae whispers in a delicate voice, pausing to find his words. “Junhong doesn’t hate you. He’s only angry at you. Give him some time to calm down.”

“He does, Youngjae,” Daehyun croaks, shutting his eyes in fatigue. “I don’t mind if he hates me, but… he looked so hurt. I can’t imagine how horrible he feels right now. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I never told him.”

“You can’t hide it from him forever, Daehyun,” Youngjae gently consoles. “You needed to tell him. If he found out on his own, he would be even more hurt that you hid it from him.”

“I… could have kept it from him. If I just said that his father moved overseas, he wouldn’t be able to look for him. He’d never have to find out,” Daehyun insists as remorse rips through his despondent words.

“And if Junhong does find out? You would hurt him a lot more. More than ever if you’d just told him.” Youngjae guides Daehyun’s face to meet their eyes. “Daehyun, don’t blame yourself for having to break the news to Junhong. What happened was beyond your control.”

Daehyun takes Youngjae’s hand from his cheek and holds it against his chest, going impossibly close to the other. “I wish this didn’t have to happen,” he whispers. “Why are things so unfair to Junhong? He’s such a good child and he’s gone through so much. Now, he even has to shoulder this.”

“This wasn’t a good time to tell him. He just finished his exams; he can’t even enjoy his holidays now,” Daehyun mumbles.

“Before or after, there’ll always be a reason that makes it a bad time,” Youngjae comforts, kissing Daehyun’s forehead. “You did the right thing just by telling him.”

“I don’t know,” Daehyun heaves. Misery trickles from his forlorn voice. “If it’s the right thing to do, why does it hurt Junhong so much?”

He sounds almost like a petulant child, curling his fingers into Youngjae’s shirt. “I’m supposed to keep him happy. All this does is make him sad.”

“Junhong wanted you to tell him this,” Youngjae reasons softly. He lowers himself to gaze into Daehyun’s eyes, brushing the man’s fringe aside.

“What happened with Junhong’s father… It’s not your fault, Daehyun. The only thing you’re responsible for is telling Junhong. And you did.” He cups Daehyun’s cheek and placates, “You did what you thought could help lessen the pain. Junhong may be angry now but as he said, it’s only because you told him late.”

“I should have told him earlier, huh? If only I listened to you.” Daehyun churns out a hollow smile. “I want to apologise to him again, but I don’t think he’d want to see me now.”

“It’s okay. Give him some time. When he’s ready, you can tell him again,” Youngjae earnestly offers.

“Okay,” Daehyun concedes tiredly. He once more crawls into Youngjae’s grasp. “Thank you. I feel better now. I’m sorry for making you come all the way here.”

“Don’t apologise for that,” Youngjae firmly says. The heavy listlessness subsides into a sombre quietness, loosening the noose around Daehyun’s neck. The windchimes in the balcony sing a whimsical song like unaware of the troubles ridden in the air.

“You can probably tell that I drank a lot last night, can’t you?” Daehyun wheezes. “I’m sorry. I wanted to feel better and thought I could manage on my own.”

“It’s alright, Daehyun.” Youngjae squeezes Daehyun’s wrist. “I’m here for you.”

“It’s not alright.” Daehyun’s lips curl in a bittersweet surrender, lilac burnt into the sides of his wistful smile. “I’m used to drinking things away,” he hums.

“When she passed on… it was how I coped. It’s always made everything better.” He looks at Youngjae with resignation dousing his irises, taking in every of Youngjae’s features.

“Last night, I drank so much I almost vomited, but I still felt terrible.” He rests his forehead against Youngjae’s shoulder. “All I wanted was to be with you. Just seeing you today… it’s made me feel so much better.”

“You should have called me earlier,” Youngjae whispers, lovingly stroking his boyfriend’s face.

“I didn’t want to upset you with how much I drank, so I waited for the smell to go away,” Daehyun exhales. He presses Youngjae’s hand into his cheek and gazes up at Youngjae.

“Promise me that no matter what I do, you’ll never leave me?” His question almost sounds like a plea, doe eyes searching Youngjae’s orbs persistently. “I’d die without you. I really would.”

“I promise.”

Daehyun smiles in contentment, relief flooding his pupils. “You promised,” he echoes, lightly squeezing Youngjae’s side. “So, you have to keep your promise.”

“Yes, yes,” Youngjae pacifies in amusement as he shoos Daehyun’s hand away.

These moments of Daehyun are oddly endearing, despite how childlike he sounds. The urbane conversations he spins from the shears of his lips contrast starkly with his ensconced, youthful nature. It melds a complex composition all in all—that beneath Daehyun’s front of immalleable elegance lies someone who will always be human.

“Have you eaten?” Youngjae asks. Daehyun shakes his head.

“I’ll make chicken soup for you,” Youngjae offers, slipping out of Daehyun’s grasp. Daehyun instantly grabs hold of Youngjae’s wrist and climbs out of bed with him, refusing to be left alone.

As Youngjae winds around the kitchen, brewing the chicken stock, Daehyun sits behind and watches quietly. Soon, Youngjae serves the hot stew and some rice on the dining table, a homely scent twining into the atmosphere.

Daehyun digs in eagerly, peach gradually pervading the pallor in his face. His way of eating in private is endearing—he gobbles up as much as he can as though he’s afraid that someone may swipe his food if he isn’t quick enough.

“Slow down,” Youngjae laughs, patting Daehyun’s hand. “I don’t want you to choke.”

Daehyun finishes up the last bit of his rice and blithely holds out his bowl. “Seconds, please.” He wolfs down another bowl of rice with some steamed chicken, affection drenching his gaze.

Youngjae puts on a feel-good movie for Daehyun to watch in the theatre room, bringing in as many blankets as he can find. As he passes by Daehyun’s absinthe cabinet, Youngjae scrunches up his nose at the smell of burning plastic.

After trying the doorknob to no avail, Youngjae briskly returns to Daehyun. “There’s a weird smell coming from your absinthe cabinet,” he relays in consternation. “It’s locked so I couldn’t check it out. I’m afraid something’s on fire.”

“Oh, you mean the mothballs? I put a lot of them in because I saw mildew growing in the corner on the wood.” Daehyun sighs. “I haven’t been going in for a while now and so the moisture built up.” He gets up from the couch and continues, “Give me a second; I’ll go put charcoal to get rid of the smell.”

Youngjae smiles at Daehyun’s words and offers, “I’ll do it.”

“It’s alright. You don’t know where they are, sweetheart.” Daehyun stops when Youngjae clasps his wrist.

“I’m really glad you haven’t been drinking as much,” Youngjae whispers, squeezing Daehyun’s hand proudly. Daehyun flutters his lashes at his boyfriend and he pulls Youngjae in for a soft kiss, memories of linens tangled into their interlocked lips.

“I want you to be happy,” Daehyun finishes with a small smile. He nudges Youngjae into the home theatre and vanishes down the hallway.

Youngjae joins Daehyun under the comforters when the man insists, Daehyun latching his arms around Youngjae’s hips. My Neighbour Totoro rolls on the screen as they simmer into each other’s warmth.

Films like these compose a good lot of Daehyun’s favourites, Youngjae has learnt. Beyond the bursts of vibrant hues and exquisite, watercolour art, Daehyun adores the dreamlike elements of the unreal. He loves imaginary characters—those that exist only within the four corners of the screen. Many others share the same fondness, indulging in a form of escapism from a mundane life.

Halfway through the movie, Youngjae leaves for a quick bathroom break, Daehyun adamantly pausing the movie to wait for his boyfriend. Evening trickles over Youngjae’s skin as he strolls down the hallway, stopping short when Daehyun abruptly exits the room.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun starts, burying his anxiousness underneath a smile. His phone is pressed against his ear. “Go in first. I need to make a call.” He frowns as he redials the number, striding past Youngjae into the courtyard.

Youngjae tails him at a distance, watching Daehyun pace up and down the patio. Apprehension bruises Daehyun’s expression and his gestures become more erratic, punching the dial button every time the call doesn’t get through. Eventually, Daehyun slumps in a chair.

“What’s wrong?” Youngjae approaches in concern.

Daehyun runs a hand through his hair and hesitates for a moment. He ultimately divulges, “Junhong sent me a message. He apologised to me and I’m trying to call him back now but it keeps saying that he’s not available.”

Daehyun gingerly hands over the phone, showing the simple message Junhong sent.

_I’m sorry._

Daehyun’s message history shows some previous instances of Junhong answering Daehyun’s questions on how he’s doing in his night classes, Junhong’s messages littered with cute emoticons. Youngjae glances back to Daehyun with a perturbed look, Daehyun mirroring his boyfriend’s expression.

“He’s okay, right?” Daehyun heaves.

“He is. Junhong’s not someone rash,” Youngjae assures, squeezing Daehyun’s shoulder. Daehyun nods robotically and dials Yongguk’s contact number, nervously waiting for the older man to pick up.

After a few tries, the call thankfully goes through. Daehyun grips his phone tight and asks, “Hello? Yongguk, is Junhong at home?”

“Half an hour ago? Did you ask him where he went?” His free hand balls into his fist and he raises his voice, “I told you to keep an eye on him!”

“I need you to look for him now. He suddenly sent me a message saying he’s sorry and I can’t reach him,” Daehyun stresses urgently. “I’m afraid he might do something reckless.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll come over to look for him too. Comb the places he usually goes to. If Hyosung’s not available, get Jieun,” Daehyun wheezes. “Okay. Sorry for losing my cool. I’ll call you when I reach.”

Daehyun rises from his chair and returns his attention to Youngjae. “Sweetheart, I have to go look for Junhong. Yongguk said he went for a walk half an hour ago and he hasn’t returned,” he breathes. Despite how calm his voice is, his fingers give away his uneasiness.

“I’ll come with,” Youngjae replies. Daehyun churns out a halfhearted smile and embraces Youngjae briefly, heading straight for his car afterwards.

The car is utterly silent, Daehyun’s brows creased as he speeds down the highway. The fifteen feet deep thoughts are scratched illegibly into his face. His fingers drum restlessly against the steering wheel while his other hand grips Youngjae’s hand tight.

Youngjae redials Junhong’s number for the umpteenth time, nervousness wrangling his ministrations. He had soothed Daehyun with the fact that Junhong was not the hotheaded type, but there was no guarantee how Junhong would react after receiving such poignant news.

“Still nothing?” Daehyun asks with a wry smile, despite the answer being obvious. Youngjae shakes his head timidly.

They cruise into Yongguk’s neighbourhood, Daehyun informing Yongguk through a quick call while Youngjae continues dialling for Junhong. Youngjae keeps a vigilant lookout as they slowly wind down each road, faces breezing past in a whir. Night threatens to rob their visibility as the lampposts flicker on, eventide dying away along the horizon.

It has been an hour since Junhong left the house, no news of his whereabouts from Yongguk or Hyosung. Himchan is on his way over, having heard of the situation from Yongguk.

As Youngjae makes another assumedly futile call, he jolts when the repetitive tone clicks. “Hello? Junhong?” Youngjae blurts hastily, Daehyun whipping his head over.

“Youngjae?” Junhong’s soft voice crackles over the speaker.

“Junhong, where are you? Are you okay?” Youngjae strains. Daehyun swiftly searches for a place to park.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Junhong says, surprise lingering in his voice. “Um, I’m at the park near my house. What’s wrong?”

Relief swamps Youngjae immensely and he lets out a lengthy breath. “You sent Daehyun a message and we got worried, so we were looking for you,” Youngjae explains. Daehyun pulls into a lot, waiting anxiously with his fingers curled.

“Oh no, I’m fine!” Junhong quickly exclaims, remorse dripping from his voice. “I’m so sorry. I just went out for a walk and didn’t want to be bothered, so I turned off my phone.”

“It’s okay,” Youngjae wheezes. “We’re so glad to know you’re okay.” He looks to Daehyun whose expression has eased, perturbation still whelming his eyes, however.

“I’m really sorry,” Junhong squeaks, his voice shrivelling. “Daehyun—he must be worried sick, right?”

“He is. Would you like to talk to him, Junhong?” Youngjae lowers his voice.

After an extended pause, Junhong returns quietly, “Mm, okay.”

Youngjae passes the phone over to a wide-eyed Daehyun. Youngjae nods reassuringly and Daehyun puts the phone to his ear, starting carefully, “Junhong?”

“Ah, you’re okay? That’s good. I was afraid something may have happened to you,” Daehyun sighs. He nods slowly as though talking face to face with the boy, his attention fixated solely on the conversation.

“I see. You must be tired from all that walking. I’ll send you home,” Daehyun exhales heavily.

“Oh, right. I forgot,” he promptly exudes a contrived chuckle. He presses his lips together and hesitantly asks, “Then, can we meet for a while before you go home?”

His eyes soften in thankfulness, a gentle smile simmering along Daehyun’s face. “I’ll see you there, then. Bye.”

Daehyun hands Youngjae back his phone and his shoulder fall, tension collapsing away from his joints. He reaches over and envelopes Youngjae in a crushing hug, hand weaving through Youngjae’s hair.

“He’s okay,” Daehyun rasps, breathing in deep and bristling the hairs along Youngjae’s neck. “God, I thought I might never be able to see him again, but he was just taking a walk, like Yongguk said.”

Youngjae strokes Daehyun’s back pacifyingly. “Let’s go see Junhong,” he says as he leans back, flashing Daehyun an encouraging smile.

They pull up in a lot by the park, Daehyun swiftly alighting. Winding down the lanes where passers-by flicker into a brief memory and the trees whisper, they find Junhong sitting on a park bench with Yongguk beside him.

Evening hues blanch over his side, the boy hunched over with his arms propped up on his knees. His shadow is watery over the asphalt.

“Junhong!” Daehyun jogs over immediately. Youngjae stays behind and watches as Junhong gets up, surprising donning his expression. The two speak as Yongguk joins Youngjae by the oak tree.

“Yongguk,” Youngjae greets with a smile. “Does Hyosung and Himchan know we’re here?”

“Yeah. She just left after hugging Junhong half to death. Had to go pick her nieces from school. Himchan’s coming down now.”

Yongguk leans against the trunk and sighs softly, “I looked for Junhong for so long. The park was the first place I combed, since it was right beside our house.”

“He must have walked far and just came back.” Youngjae remarks.

Yongguk slants his gaze over. The remnants of his panic spill underneath the immense relief on his face.

“Yeah. He walked all the way to the expressway,” Yongguk hums, eyes clouded with absolute exhaustion. “I could have found him earlier if I didn’t keep going into the shops.”

Youngjae squeezes his arm. “It was hard on you.”

“Harder on Junhong,” Yongguk says, looking to the tall boy. “He’s so guilty now. I bet he’ll never turn off his phone again after our manhunt.”

“We should have trusted him more, huh?” Youngjae lets out a chuckle. Yongguk proffers his signature gummy grin in return.

“Yeah, but well, better safe than sorry,” his voice dwindles away into the rustle of leaves, a wind catching their hair and slinking over the sleeves of their shirts. Both capsize in silence as Junhong tears up, Daehyun enveloping the boy in a secure embrace. Their shadows meld into one against the grass in the evening undertones.

“I wish he didn’t have to go through so much,” Youngjae breathes.

Yongguk watches Daehyun and Junhong with a small smile. “Me too,” he rasps, quiet sadness twined with his hoarse words.

The journey back home is clouded with a weary stillness. Gangnam loses all its splendour in a midnight blue where the city lights obscure the way home, marring the road back. The disjointed crowds ironically brew an ambience of loneliness under the stop signs and 24/7 convenience stores.

Daehyun keeps their hands laced, only letting go every once to shift gears. Murkiness souses his irises and bleeds down to his ruminative expression.

They return to Daehyun’s home and turn in after a quick dinner. Daehyun has an arm tangled around Youngjae’s waist, nose nuzzled into the bartender’s hair.

“Youngjae?” Daehyun starts. “Are you sleeping?”

The clouds in Youngjae’s shallow dream collapse back into linens, Youngjae blearily opening his eyes.

“No,” he rasps, shaking away his fatigue. They immerse in a rust-like glow from the night light as Daehyun pulls Youngjae closer.

Some quietness later, Daehyun speaks. “Junhong sent me the message because he was sorry for getting mad at me,” he breathes. “He knows I hid everything to protect him. He just took a walk to clear his mind and think about things.”

He presses himself into Youngjae and sighs. “He told me… I was the closest thing to a father he ever had. And he cried because all of us got worried and came to look for him, while his father would have just hit him.”

Youngjae rolls over to face Daehyun and caresses the man’s cheek. “I’m really glad you took Junhong in, Daehyun. Just seeing him today made me hate the world a little for what he had to endure,” he wheezes with a hollow chuckle.

“I felt that way too when I first saw him,” Daehyun hums. “He was so blue it pained me.”

He slants his head one side with a lengthy breath. “I wonder why Junhong believes in a God when his life was so hard. I wouldn’t put my faith in someone who claims to be all-good, all-powerful and all-knowing—yet watched while I lived miserably.”

“God’s a liar, isn’t he?” Youngjae remarks softly, Daehyun chuckling in return. He entangles their fingers under the sheets.

“I’ve been thinking about taking the high school leaving examination someday,” Daehyun says. “Every time Junhong’s studying in the storage and hits a question he doesn’t know how to do, I can’t help him. He has to wait for Yongguk or you to get off work.”

He wears a thoughtful mien. “I want to be a good father and teach our children how to do their homework.”

Youngjae lets out a faint laugh and presses their foreheads together. “We haven’t even gotten married yet and you’re thinking of children?”

“Well, we’re going to get married someday, aren’t we? So I’m not thinking too far ahead,” Daehyun returns teasingly.

Youngjae chuckles. “It’s okay even if you don’t take the exam, Daehyun. I’m sure your children will love you just the way you are.”

“Our children,” Daehyun corrects. “You promised not to leave me, so my children will be your children.”

“ _Our_  children will love you all the same,” Youngjae laughs sweetly. Daehyun melts into a contented grin and seals their lips.

“I’m starting to think God does exist. Perhaps he’s just someone who’s not very punctual.”

“And why do you think that?”

“He gave me you eventually, didn’t he?” Daehyun whispers. Youngjae rolls his eyes with a smile of incredulity.

“I’m pretty sure it was Himchan who brought us together. Unless you consider Himchan to be your God…” Youngjae arches a brow mischievously, earning himself a pinch in the side.

“Thank you for ruining the mood,” Daehyun drawls. He smothers Youngjae’s giggles with his lips and brushes the man’s hair back.

“You know, even though I want to have children, I’m scared to do so,” Daehyun shares pensively. “I don’t think I’ll be able to raise them well.”

“Why do you think that?” Youngjae asks, earnestly gazing into his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Well, I’m not educated. I have a history of drugs and alcoholism too.” Daehyun sighs. “What more, I didn’t have a proper family, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to give our children what they need.”

Youngjae’s stare softens and he cups Daehyun’s cheek. “Junhong thinks of you as his father. Even though you’re older than him by just five years, he sees you as someone fit to be his father. That says enough about whether or not you can give our children the love they need.”

Daehyun melts into a minuscule smile of wistfulness, moonlight doused into the curl of his lips. “Maybe.” He brushes their noses and declares, “I will change for you and our kids so we can live happily ever after.”

“Baby steps,” Youngjae encourages with a silky chuckle.

Slumber lulls Youngjae back to his dreams of uncherished family and friends, Daehyun’s exhales a tattoo down his cheek. The silence stretches out into minutes and a struggle between wake and sleep.

As Youngjae’s eyelids weigh down, Daehyun shifts on the bed and sighs. “Why do people want the truth so much, Youngjae?”

Youngjae’s reverie disintegrates once more with Daehyun’s voice. He blubbers, “Huh?”

“Why do people want the truth, even if it hurts?” Daehyun’s breath is warm against his skin like a sting.

“I don’t know, Daehyun,” Youngjae slurs tiredly. “I mean… the truth is important.”

“But why?” Daehyun breathes. “Do you ever think about why we think it’s important?”

Youngjae churns out a garbled mess even he can’t decipher, trying his hardest to pry open his eyes. Daehyun is lying on his back while gazing up at the ceiling, a whimsical wisp carved into his irises.

Youngjae nearly whines about how it’s too late for a philosophical debate but bites back his complaints. It’s Daehyun, after all. He tends to see the world a little differently from most people.

“Junhong wished I told him the moment I found out about his father’s death,” Daehyun says lowly. “Wouldn’t he rather not know? Why does he not want me to hide the truth from him when all it does is make him sad?”

Daehyun flops onto his side with a puzzled expression. “The truth doesn’t bring him any good. He could have lived his whole life not knowing and never having to worry about it.”

Youngjae yawns softly. “Well… Telling Junhong his father is still around is just a lie. And Junhong doesn’t want to live a lie. He wants to live a truthful life.”

“What’s so great about truth?” Daehyun raggedly heaves, his cheek pressed against the pillow. “Truth is overrated. We rarely ever stop to think why we want it so much when it doesn’t do any good.”

“There’s some truth to that,” Youngjae chuckles. Moonlight collapses over their shoulders like a makeshift blanket, Daehyun’s irises glistening in deep contemplation.

Youngjae reaches out to stroke Daehyun’s chin. “Think about it this way, Daehyun. Junhong doesn’t want to live in the past. His father has already passed on and this is what makes up the present, whether or not he likes it.”

“He’d feel left behind if he didn’t know.” Youngjae purses his lips thoughtfully. “It’d be like… reading a pamphlet about a great place that’s already been demolished long ago.”

“But as long as you don’t ever find out the place isn’t demolished, it should be fine, don’t you think so?” Daehyun returns in a quiet voice. “You’ll get extra happiness from thinking it exists. And that’s what people want—to be happy.”

“You said it yourself, Daehyun,” Youngjae breathes. “That happiness comes from thinking that the place exists—that it’s real. We want to see it, hear it, feel it. It’s what we do and why we want real things instead of fake ones.”

Daehyun proffers a smile with distance scribbled over his eyes. “But if it seems real, does it matter? As long as I believe the place is real, is it really that bad to let me continue believing so?” He reaches out a hand and grasps at the air. “I just think it’s silly happiness comes attached with the condition that it must be from something real.”

Youngjae playfully pinches Daehyun’s cheek. “What if I was cheating on you right now, and you didn’t know? Would you want me to lie to you about it, so you’ll keep being happy?”

“What? No,” Daehyun brusquely replies, as though just the hypothetical thought of it offended him. “That’s different. You’re lying to me to keep your own happiness. You could be with me only and make me happy, but you choose to be with someone else as well and hide it from me. That’s selfish.”

“You sound like you’re actually angry at me,” Youngjae laughs, tussling Daehyun’s hair.

Daehyun pouts. “I’ve wondered if you were cheating on me a few times, so.”

Youngjae furrows his brows and lightly punches Daehyun’s shoulder. “You don’t trust me that much?”

“I do trust you—even though you keep hiding things from me.” Daehyun sends Youngjae a dubious look, the other man widening his eyes in protest. “I’m just afraid. There are a lot of people out there who are better than me.”

“I could say the same for myself. You’re the only one I love, Daehyun,” Youngjae announces in a straightforward manner.

“That’s good. Please keep it that way till the end of eternity.” Daehyun pecks Youngjae’s forehead. “What were we talking about again?”

“Philosophy 101,” the bartender yawns, “where Mr. Jung thinks truth and real things overrated.”

“They are overrated,” Daehyun mutters, prodding Youngjae’s forehead.

“What if I wasn’t real, then?” Youngjae cheekily asks. “I guess it’d still be okay to you if I was a figment of your imagination.”

Daehyun flits his lashes and lugs Youngjae into his chest. “Don’t say that,” he chides tenderly. “I’d be very sad if you were just a dream. I’d probably kill myself if I ever find that out.”

Youngjae stops short, astonished by the extreme response. “Why would you do that?” He scolds in a gentle tone, squeezing Daehyun’s hand.

“I don’t know,” Daehyun offers a minuscule smile. “I guess you’ve cornered me. Even I succumb to wanting things to be real.”

“Thinking about you being someone I conjured up, that everything you’ve done for me are all just things I made you do… It makes me feel empty.” His irises flicker with a stunningly hollow murkiness, melancholy trickling from his countenance.

Daehyun musters a simper anyhow. He stares at Youngjae for a long while before questioning mischievously, “You are real, right?”

Youngjae lets out a mellow laugh, sweet pastel splashing over the walls. He nudges Daehyun. “Yes, stupid.”

“Just checking, in case it’s two years ago and you’re an imaginary friend I made up for comfort,” Daehyun jokes. He emits an assuring smile when a tinge of forlornness permeates Youngjae. “I’m kidding, sweetheart.”

Nightfall settles in the room with a languid gale, threading through their hair like soft fingers. Yesterday has long disappeared with the arrival of midnight, chipping away at the memories of Junhong and the nerve-wracking worry.

As the darkness consumes their silhouettes, Youngjae thumbs Daehyun’s cheek, remembering the wrinkles by his eyes for another day. “I think what you said makes a lot of sense. You’re right that people blindly put a lot of value to truth,” Youngjae broods.

“Maybe sometimes we shoot ourselves in the foot when we ask for the truth and all we get is unhappiness.”

“That’s why they say ignorance is bliss,” Daehyun remarks. At this moment, a serrated wind blusters past the curtains, slicing an absinthe-like sting over Youngjae’s skin. He instinctively huddles into Daehyun’s chest as the other man protectively shrouds him.

The curtains flap violently over the window pane, allowing moonlight to crawl over Daehyun’s face. “Have you ever felt this way?” Daehyun questions. “As if you were better off not knowing something.”

“I don’t think so,” Youngjae says as he jogs his memory. “Have you?”

“Sometimes,” Daehyun concludes. Youngjae tussles in his grasp.

“I think Junhong’s brave for not running away,” Youngjae whispers. “Not a lot of people have the courage to do that, especially at his age.”

“He is.” Daehyun releases a contented sigh. “I’m glad I can talk about these things with you, darling. My boyfriend is such a smart man.”

“I’m not. You’re the one with these deep thoughts, while I’ve never thought about these things before,” Youngjae whispers, holding Daehyun snugly.

“Himchan tells me to shut up every time I bring up things like this with him. Yongguk starts ranting to me about capitalism,” Daehyun intones.

Youngjae exudes a buoyant laugh that withers into a chuckle when Daehyun kisses his shirt.

“I’m sorry for keeping you up. Let’s sleep.”

 

\--

 

On a dreary, freezing night where rain and snow bled over the asphalt, Daehyun sat on the tattered polyester sofa of his apartment with his Queen by his side. The floor beneath his feet crawled with grime and dust, crumpled beer cans littering the coffee table. The merciless cold preyed on the weak and bit into their bones, but none of that mattered to Daehyun or Sunhwa.

With the snowy drugs in their hands, the Prince and the Princess could see what the lowly commoners could not. On a magnificent golden throne embroided with only the finest artistry, Prince Daehyun sat with his royal wife whose sunken eyes haunted her emaciated face no more. Sunhwa’s gorgeous long locks fell where her brittle, frayed hair once curled, and she flaunted healthy flesh instead of sickly skin and bones.

The white powder dressed her in a meticulous, ivory lace gown, showcasing the refined chastity and noble elegance Han Sunhwa was always meant for. It was there Daehyun and Sunhwa held hands and lived far away in a Wonderland where the harsh reality could never touch them. They borrowed a deceitful warmth from the alcohol when money would give no help and whisked away into a different winter—one that promised a summer constancy.

In this flawlessly-crafted paradise, the powder assembled a white castle befitting of Princess Sunhwa’s immaculateness. It was only here that Daehyun found courage to shamefully indulge in his lover’s smile.

Out there, he could not give her diamond rings or extravagant nights in the Maldives, nor could he buy expensive clothes for a girl who just wanted to play Princess for a day. Even though Daehyun scrimped and starved, Daehyun could only buy a measly, high-end handbag for his lover. He was everything to blame for Sunhwa’s misery; he deserved the endless screams and vicious words about how pathetic he was as a supposed Prince Charming.

Desperation became a second skin for nineteen-year-old Jung Daehyun. He yearned for his princess to be happy, so he fell into a bargain of sorts with the truth. He closed his eyes to the sight of Sunhwa with other men, reasoning that they were friends or family. He turned a deaf ear to Yongguk’s complaints about lost money, pinning the blame on himself. He kept quiet as the needles pierced into Sunhwa’s arms, assuring himself the drug doses were fine.

It was in their vivid reverie that Sunhwa learnt how to be happy. Was it so wrong that it was unreal? There was no rationale in confronting a bitter, despairing truth of prostitution and robbed childhoods. This sinful self-destruction of playing pretend—was it so bad?

Daehyun found his answer in Sunhwa’s lovely smile. He swooped her off her delicate feet in their grand palace and presented her with treasures beyond her wildest imagination. Resplendent amethysts lined Sunhwa’s collarbones while divine sunstones wove around her wrists, traded from DMT crystals. Sunhwa’s every step was buoyed up by the fabric of sundried clouds (methamphetamine smoke). They danced in a winter utopia where warmth and food were never a problem—until Her Highness fell.

Trapped in his hallucinations with lucidity gone from his grasp, Daehyun’s dream rotted into a horrifying nightmare as he fumbled hysterically with the phone. The buttons melted into incomprehensible riddles and the dial tone reverberated deafeningly within his Wonderland. All the while, Prince Daehyun piteously struggled to get help, delirious tears revealing his princess deathly still on the floor.

The white of their kingdom violently flickered back and forth against the white of the hospital walls, ripping Daehyun between his fragile states of sanity. The view of his loyal soldiers quivered in his periphery where the doctors walked through them, faces morphed into phantoms. He heard illusory whispers in his ear and his garbled questions about his beloved were nothing short of incoherent.

The dial tone screeched into the seethe of a flatline, blurring further the lines between reality and illusion. Distraught, Daehyun frantically begged for a sense of lucidity to return. He did not know if the thousands of overlapping apologies were mirages; he lurched to piece back the unforgiving walls, only to find it dissolved into his shuddering hands. The vibrant colours of his Shangri-la slowly melted into a terrifying long aisle where the emergency room stood at the dead end.

Jung Daehyun could not tell reality from his fantasy. It seemed tormenting centuries passed in his mind for his palace to be collapsed into the smell of bleach. Yet, just minutes toiled by in the hospital. A semblance of real life chewed away at the hallucinatory greenery where Daehyun and Sunhwa once frolicked, the royal maidens moulting into scurrying nurses.

In their man-made dream world, Sunhwa laid on her canopy bed in all her dignified glory. Her wedding dress coiled a sophisticated ivory hue all over her body, chiffon veil obscuring her face. As Daehyun lifted the bride’s veil, he came face-to-face with a lifeless woman on the gurney.

The bouquet of daffodils she held were for her funeral, not her wedding. Daehyun knelt by his lover’s side and prayed to his psychedelics, tearfully waiting for his Sleeping Beauty to rouse from her eternal slumber.

Alas, the drugs could do nothing about the corpse of a prostitute in the casket. Daehyun was no prince and Sunhwa was no princess. Daehyun’s fairy tale ending lived only in his hallucinations, where mere kisses could lift the spell of death.

 

\--

 

Chilly sunrise peeks over the horizon and disperses with the croaks of crickets. The modest cemetery sprawls out over the fields underneath the silence. The nine of them stand in a quaint solitude, grass and morning dew crumpled beneath their feet.

Soil stains Junhong’s knees as he sets down the peony flowers on his father’s grave. Wistfulness cuts in a wrinkle more along Junhong’s cheeks, adding another year to his life too short for a boy who weathered so much. Behind him, Daehyun stands like an extended silhouette, perhaps what might have been of Junhong in a tragedy of missed coincidences and vicious loneliness. He is clad in an emerald green dress shirt, trousers cropped and prim.

Youngjae simmers into the guilty nostalgia of eating at the dinner table, freshly made rice hanging from his chopsticks. Inna and Seungho are sitting across him in their high school uniforms. His mother is young again, stern with her rebuking yet oddly comforting. It was out of love she and her husband forced a regime that could bring out what they thought best in their children, after all.

Wherever Jiho is now, Youngjae hopes his brother at least finds some peace in this knowledge.

Junhong exhales audibly at this instant. The wind bristles the grass by the tombstone and traverses past the crowd of trees.

“I’m happy with my family now,” Junhong rasps, his voice brittle yet resolute. “I hope you can be happy too.”

Placidity simmers into the warm ambience as Junhong rises to his feet. He turns around and lifts his gaze to meet Daehyun’s eyes, innocence melding with a grey maturity.

Daehyun steps forward with a faint smile. “Shall we go?”

Junhong nods. He surprisingly envelops the older man in a hug and Daehyun reciprocates firmly, patting the boy’s back. Yongguk winds over and embraces Junhong next. He fondly whispers, “You’re all grown-up now, aren’t you?”

Hyosung begins to sniffle, tears streaming down her cheeks as she breaks into a wail. Himchan sighs heavily, “What are you crying for?” He wraps an arm around her anyway and yelps when Hyosung blows her nose into his shirt.

The rest of them deliquesce into caramel laughter, Junhong brimming with a blithe simper. They pace out of the clearing while Himchan complains about his poor branded shirt, Hyosung still clinging to his arm. Jongup lags behind to walk with Junhong and in a few minutes, the two are ecstatically talking about a newly-opened ice skating ring.

Youngjae takes Daehyun’s hand and runs a thumb over the man’s knuckles. Since they stepped into the cemetery, Daehyun has been visibly uncomfortable, glaze swaddling his hesitant eyes.

“Let’s go get lunch. My treat.” Youngjae’s lips quirk amicably.

“Treat me too,” Jieun blurts, pulling at Youngjae’s wrist. “Why would you treat your boss? I’m the one who’s poor.”

Youngjae chortles. “I’ll treat you to convenience store food.”

“I’m in,” Yongguk calls from the front. “Don’t underestimate how many bowls of spicy noodles I can go through, Youngjae.”

“No wonder your farts stink so bad,” Hana remarks, unapologetically pinching her nose when Yongguk glares at her.

Returning his attention to Daehyun, Youngjae finds him still out of it, thousand feet deep thoughts cocooned behind his dazed expression. “Daehyun,” Youngjae worriedly tries, the man snapping out of his stupor at the tug of his hand.

“Oh, sorry.” A flimsy smile foams over Daehyun’s lips as his gaze rakes Youngjae’s features. “Darling, I think I’d rather go home to rest. I’m a little tired.”

“Do you want me to come with?”

“It’s alright, baby. I… want to be alone for a while. I hope you don’t mind,” Daehyun breathes. He slips his hand from Youngjae’s grip and kisses his boyfriend.

“Sure, Daehyun,” Youngjae assures. “Go home and get a good rest.”

“I will.” Daehyun’s lips curl in contentment. “I’ll leave first then. I’ll call you later, beautiful.” He throws a fleeting glance back at the cemetery and abruptly walks ahead towards the car park, a hint of haste in his steps.

“Why is he so spooked out?” Jieun mumbles. “He visits Sunhwa’s grave so often.”

“Jieun!” Hana chides, sending her a steely frown. “Just because he does, doesn’t mean he’d feel more comfortable with this place. You could come here a thousand times and it’d still be unsettling.” She discreetly darts her eyes towards Youngjae like an arrow, warning Jieun not to bring up the topic again.

“Sorry,” Jieun softly says. “Yeah, that’s true. It’d take a long time to get used to it.” They watch as Himchan pulls Daehyun back just as he strides past them, questioning the man on where he’s heading to. Daehyun tugs out a cigarette and asks for a lighter.

“So, what about that convenience store lunch?” Jieun attempts to distract Youngjae with a slap on the back.

Youngjae proffers a grin. “Cup noodles party?”

They halt by the pedestrian crossing, red light carved away by the now seething sunlight. Youngjae flickers his stare to Daehyun, the man firmly intoning to Himchan that he’s heading home.

“Count me out. Do you know how much sodium there is in the seasoning?” Hana shudders.

“You should tell that to Yongguk,” Youngjae chuckles.

“Wow, the alcoholic complains about how unhealthy cup noodles are,” Jieun rebounds easily, igniting an amusing bicker between the two women.

Youngjae returns his attention back to Daehyun, only to find the man has already jogged across the road, striding ahead. Daehyun turns back to cast Youngjae one last glance.

Instinctively, Youngjae follows without a thought. He steps onto the asphalt and a loud horn cracks the dawn’s serenity, someone hastily lugging him back onto the pavement. In a second or two, a truck speeds past nimbly and drags along a formidable gust of wind.

“Youngjae!” Jieun yells, Youngjae snapping out of his bewilderment. “Oh my god, watch where you’re going! You almost got yourself killed!”

“Sorry,” Youngjae breathes as he belatedly comes to his senses. He takes a fleeting moment to find his bearings, the sudden surge of adrenaline plunging against his rapid heartbeat.

“Are you alright?” Hana immediately frets, squeezing the man’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I am. Sorry, I saw Daehyun crossing so I thought the light changed,” Youngjae sheepishly murmurs.

The rest of the group concernedly gather around the man and pelt the poor bartender with worried questions. Suddenly, Youngjae is wrenched aside by Daehyun, the latter having ran over once he saw the commotion.

“Are you okay?” Daehyun nearly shouts as he tightly grabs Youngjae’s shoulders. His wide eyes rake over Youngjae’s form, him frantically checking the man for any injuries. “What happened? Why’d you…”

“He saw you cross the road so he followed,” Jieun drawls. “Like an idiot.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Daehyun. And hey, cut me some slack, Jieun. I’m running low on sleep here,” Youngjae chuckles, nudging her lightly.

“Why weren’t you looking out for traffic, Youngjae?” Daehyun blurts. Anxiety batters his syllables, Daehyun’s eyes unnervingly distressed. “Didn’t you see that the light was red? You should have checked before you followed me!” His voice rises to a crescendo, vehemence now crushing into his voice.

“I guess he mistook your green shirt for the traffic light,” Hana jokes, inciting a guffaw in Youngjae.

“Hana.” Frustration seeps into Daehyun’s hoarse voice as he turns back to Youngjae. “What were you thinking, Youngjae? Don’t you look before you cross the road?” He stresses frenziedly.

Daehyun grips Youngjae harder, fingernails sinking into Youngjae’s flesh. “Seriously, you could have gotten hit but you’re still laughing about it?” He rebukes.

“Daehyun, it’s okay.” Youngjae flutters his lashes up at his boyfriend. “I’m fine.”

“If Jieun didn’t pull you back, you wouldn’t have been,” Daehyun grits. “How could you be so careless? Do you do this often? Cross the road without even checking if the light’s still red?”

“I was tired. It was just an accident, Daehyun,” Youngjae answers as his brows crease. The rest of the group loiter behind stiffly and exchange glances, unsure if they should breach the couple’s brewing fight.

“And it could have cost you your life,” Daehyun grouses, anguish coursing through his unhappy words. “Why did you stay up last night? You knew we were going out early.”

“Relax, Daehyun,” Yongguk steps in. “I know you’re worried for Youngjae but it happens to the best of us.”

Daehyun heaves, chagrin evaporating from his rigid clutch.

“Promise me you’ll be more careful,” he presses, remnants of fear surfacing in his voice. “Really, Youngjae. You can’t just walk out onto the road without looking. You’ll get hurt.” The angst in his expression withers into misery.

“I’ll be careful.” Slightly perplexed, Youngjae struggles to pry Daehyun’s hand from his shoulder. He stumbles when Daehyun tugs him into a hug. One hand twines into Youngjae’s hair and pulls him close to the point of suffocation, Daehyun burying his face into Youngjae’s neck.

“Really, Youngjae…” Daehyun wheezes. “Please be careful. You could have…” He instantly tightens his death grip as though the notion frightened him.

“I’m fine, Daehyun. Sorry for worrying you. I won’t ever do that again,” Youngjae breathes, soothingly rubbing Daehyun’s back. “You said you wanted to go home and rest, right? You should go now, else you’ll get caught in the lunchtime traffic.”

“No, no. I’ll go with you guys for lunch,” Daehyun murmurs. He intertwines their fingers tightly with no hint of letting go enweaved between. “Let’s go eat.”

Lethargy hacks at Daehyun’s dark eye circles, his countenance blatantly emphasising that he’s shaken up.

Youngjae apologetically persuades, “You should go home if you’re tired. I’m okay, Daehyun. Really.”

“No, I have to be with you,” Daehyun staunchly intones. “What if something else happens when I’m not around?”

“Daehyun, it was one time,” Youngjae exasperatedly wheezes. The steadfast insistence in Daehyun’s tone has Youngjae relenting anyway, knowing that any protest will fall on deaf ears.

Youngjae lets out a soft breath and squeezes Daehyun’s hand. “Let’s just go back together.”

Daehyun gives a single-second pause out of formality before nodding.

The trip back to Daehyun’s home is ridden with fatigue and a stretched-out silence, tension gradually wilting from Daehyun’s back. Every now and then, his fingers twitch over the steering wheel, pallor creeping over his face like a disease.

After a lunch of Italian takeaway, the couple sprawl out over the sofa, absentmindedly flicking through the TV channels. It reminds Youngjae of peeking into a dozen windows of an apartment block, leaping from one story to another.

“You know,” Youngjae curls up by Daehyun’s side, “I can leave if you want me to. I know you wanted to be alone. I’m alert, now that I’ve eaten.” He gives a corny thumbs up.

Daehyun rests his head on Youngjae’s shoulder. After an extended moment, he drawls, “No, I want you to stay.” He pinches Youngjae’s nose. “You are so troublesome. You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“You overreacted, Daehyun,” Youngjae deadpans, rubbing his nose with a pout. “You were talking to me like I was a child. I already knew what I did was wrong.”

“Well, I’m sorry, darling,” Daehyun concedes. He entangles his arms around Youngjae’s waist and pulls the man into his lap. “It’s scary, okay? I watched you nearly get hit. And you  _were_  taking it too lightly.”

Daehyun presses his nose into Youngjae’s back and breathes in every fibre of the man before him. Inhale a blend of fabric softener and sweat, exhale a concoction of leftover absinthe and hastily-swallowed mints.

“I told you before, right? I’d die if you ever leave me,” his words bleed into Youngjae’s neck. “If anything happened to you then, I’d have killed myself right there.”

“Stop saying that,” Youngjae chides, turning around with a frown.

Daehyun smiles unapologetically. “I mean it.”

“You shouldn’t,” Youngjae scolds. He exhales thinly and combs Daehyun’s fringe aside. “Why do you keep saying these things lately?”

Daehyun chuckles. Resignation faintly colours his eyes, a familiar look Daehyun has repeatedly given Youngjae these few months.

“Remember back when we first started dating? I told you that I’d pick you over my absinthe, and Himchan told me not to lead you on.” Daehyun squeezes Youngjae’s arm. “I said you’d overthrow my absinthe addiction one day. And you really have.”

Youngjae melts into a warm blush, lips quirking with a tender bashfulness. “You still drink it, anyway.”

“But I’ve cut down a lot just for you,” Daehyun insists. “Don’t make me choose between you and the green fairy. I love you both too much.”

“Right. I guess your statement from before was completely meaningless, then.”

Daehyun loudly whines and buries his face into Youngjae’s neck, the bartender emitting a squeamish laugh. They share a tender kiss with the spice of a Mint Julep, enamoured gazes frothing amidst their push and pull.

Youngjae pants as they separate, lips delectably swollen. He churns out a soft smile. “Do you want to talk about anything? You seemed bothered just now when we were at the cemetery.”

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. I was just being moody.” Daehyun swipes another peck from his boyfriend and plops Youngjae down onto the sofa. “I want to go work on something in my art studio. Does my prince need anything?”

“Can I borrow your bar?” Youngjae perks up.

“Sure, handsome. I just stocked up yesterday so feel free to take anything.” Daehyun fondly pulls Youngjae’s cheek and roams down the corridor. He stops outside his absinthe cabinet for a moment, simply staring at the door, before winding into his studio.

Eagerly, Youngjae hops over to the bar. He has been yearning to experiment but inspiration has been dry for him lately. On the other hand, his homemade absinthe is coming along smoothly. Youngjae has bought several brands of absinthe to compare to in order to better tune the taste. The owl logo is nicely done, though still a sketch, while Youngjae is still deciding on a name.

Afternoon wanes into the gurgle of liquor and alcohol blotched over Youngjae’s tongue. He scribbles on a sheet of paper, cancelling ingredients over and over again and rewriting each designated volume. [Cachaça](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cacha%C3%A7a), [Jenever](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jenever), [Schnapps](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schnapps)—Youngjae sieves through the uncommon spirits lining Daehyun’s cabinet in awe, taste-testing several liqueurs.

The myriad of flavours draw over Youngjae’s tongue like ink, bursts of sweet and sour enshrouding a flat bitterness. He shuts his eyes to appraise each spirit.  _Metallic aftertaste, bold but a little too sour, some sherry influences, rounds out well without a pointed astringency._

The spiced beer ferries him to a modest Volksfest in Munich, people weaving under the auburn lights on a cold night. The chemical overtones of another liquor plunge him into a Halloween party at his college, Jaebum warning him not to drink the punch. It tasted like flu medicine, Youngjae remembers. Jaebum lent him his jacket because he was cold.

The chalk of a whisky thankfully takes Youngjae away. Every now and then, Daehyun peeks out of his studio to check on the man, going over for a quick hug.

The outcome of it all is some wooziness on Youngjae’s side, along with a proudly new cocktail named  _Poison Apple_. It’s two ounces of Vodka, one ounce of Calvados and half an ounce of Triple Sec, topped with cranberry and apple juice to give it a rich scarlet finish. A green mint leaf hangs over the rim of the [snifter glass](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snifter).

Youngjae excitedly paces to Daehyun’s art studio with the drink in hand. He nudges open the ajar door to find no one in the room.

Aside from the absinthe cabinet, Daehyun’s studio is the room Youngjae is least familiar with. It has a stunningly raw mystification, encompassing Daehyun’s unsaid thoughts and wonders.

While every other room is kept spick and span, the studio is a mess, canvases and materials strewn around. Numerous easels stand stacked against the white walls. By the glass window overlooking the lawn, a long, narrow desk is chiselled to the wall. Stationery, clay moulds and paint bottles sit there under the sunlight and obscure the blotches of dried paint on the desk.

Youngjae smiles fondly at the small caricatures on the shelves. He admires the artworks resting against the pillar, splashes of diverse hues running down each canvas. Daehyun is modest about his works, often saying he’s simply an unlearned novice unlike those who have genuinely studied art.

Youngjae crouches down to take a better look at one of the artworks. A man stands on top of a tower of books while another is standing at the bottom, gazing up sadly with red hearts surrounding him.  _Inadequate,_ the title is pasted on the back of the paper canvas. This one is drawn with crayons in a blatantly clumsier style, almost as though made by a child.

Scouring for more recent pieces, Youngjae finally spots the easel at the corner, facing inwards. By its side, a glass of absinthe sits, filling half the cup. It must be Daehyun’s second or third drink, considering he finishes one glass extremely quickly.

Youngjae peeks at the fresh painting.

This one is starkly different from the lighthearted piece from before. It’s drawn from the perspective of a person looking down from a window of an apartment unit. On the concrete pavement is the gruesome sight of a child, face down in a pool of blood. He’s clad in all green, an olive hat with a red feather sitting atop his head—attire oddly resembling Peter Pan.

 _You’re all grown-up now._ Nothing else is written on the back of the canvas. Youngjae gazes at it for a long while and lets out a soft exhale, pattering out to find Daehyun.

He wanders past Daehyun’s absinthe cabinet and briefly stops there, wondering if Daehyun had went in to get a refill. Youngjae knocks on the door, twiddling with his Poison Apple. Daehyun’s absinthe cabinet tends to have a smell of incense and brewing tea leaves, sometimes a little too pungent for Youngjae’s liking.

Wandering away when no one answers, Youngjae finds Daehyun outside. He is perched along the railings of the veranda, a cigarette wedged between his two fingers.

Sunlight blanches his skin tone and emphasises the lines down his cheek. His glassy eyes fall out of focus over the horizon, evidently deep in thought.

He promptly crushes his lit cigarette into the ash tray once he notices Youngjae, waving away the billows of smoke. “Youngjae,” he grins. “Made something new?”

“Yeah. I wanted you to try it but it seems like you’ve already had a drink,” Youngjae teases. He steps over and leans over the railings. “Sorry. I was looking for you so I went into your studio.”

“I didn’t drink much,” Daehyun sighs, arm instinctively snaking over Youngjae’s waist. “Didn’t have much of an appetite, so I couldn’t finish even one glass. You didn’t touch the absinthe, right?”

“I didn’t. You’re okay, right?” Youngjae asks softly. “You can tell me anything. I’m always here to listen.”

“If you take my offer first, I will too,” Daehyun remarks with a chuckle, resting his head against Youngjae’s.

“What haven’t I told you?” Youngjae chuckles.

“I don’t know. That’s why I need you to tell me,” Daehyun whispers, brushing his nose against Youngjae’s cheek. He mentions offhandedly, “It feels like everyone’s leaving me behind.”

“Who?” Youngjae questions gingerly. “I’m not hiding anything from you, Daehyun.”

Daehyun shrugs with a faint smile. “I trust you.” He releases a ragged exhale and continues, “Junhong’s all grown-up now. I never realised how mature he became.”

“I always wanted to keep his innocence but it seems he’s growing up faster than I thought. The way he took things in his stride…” Daehyun gazes out into the watery sunset with a mellow nostalgia. “He’s more mature than I am. He doesn’t need me to take care of him anymore.”

“He still relies on you, Daehyun,” Youngjae says. “He wanted you to accompany him to visit his father.”

“I still wonder how he plucked up the courage to do so. There’s so much guilt in that good heart of his. I can tell he’s still scared of his father, too. I don’t know how he managed to face his father’s grave.”

Youngjae reaches over and places his hand atop of Daehyun’s. “You heard what Junhong said there, right?” Youngjae whispers. “I think you’re where he gets his courage from. He has you to protect and love him now, and us too. We’re his family now.”

Daehyun melts into a soft curl of the lips, much like tulips in the eve of autumn. “We are.”

He runs a thumb over Youngjae’s short fingers as though memorising every ridge. “For all the love Junhong missed out on, we’ll love him a thousand times more.”

“Now, shall we take a look at your newest cocktail?” Daehyun fondly beams, pecking Youngjae’s cheek.

It’s six o’clock where the clouds are see-through and the sun trickles like a forgotten puddle. Youngjae evanesces into the sight of evening blush over Daehyun’s hair, paint clumped underneath Daehyun’s fingernails. It’s riveting, and makes Youngjae fall in love just a bit more.

Daehyun takes a seat by the bar and dries off his hands, intently examining the cocktail. “Very nice colour. Let me guess: there’s cranberry juice inside.”

“Yeah. I call it  _Poison Apple_ ,” Youngjae chuckles. “I was looking at Jamie Boudreau’s [ _Magic: The Gathering_](https://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/06/dining/blue-cocktails-blure-butterfly-pea-flower.html) cocktail and borrowed the idea of changing colours.” He retrieves some crushed sapphire blue ice from the freezer.

“Wow, what are those?” Daehyun observes in intrigue.

“Blue food colouring.” Youngjae pours some of the ice into the cocktail, marine blue melting into the red concoction. Out swirls a black concoction that gradually eats away at the brimming red like a plague.

“Pretty,” Daehyun compliments, grasping Youngjae’s chin and briefly linking their lips. “Just like my darling.” He sips at the cocktail and licks his lips, indulging in the flavour.

“Mm, it’s good. The apple’s not drowned out by the cranberry. The fruitiness masks the alcohol taste even though it’s a bit of a strong drink—it’d be great for those who want a buzz but don’t like the taste of alcohol.”

Daehyun traces the condensation over the glass. “Maybe you can add some lime juice to give it more of a punch.”

“Yeah, I was thinking it felt kind of bland.” Youngjae slices up a lime and squeezes it over the glass.

Daehyun slurps slowly and nods in satisfaction. He suggests, “You can trace the mint leaf over the rim too, just for that extra spice.”

“Mm, good idea. I’m not happy with the presentation,” Youngjae shares, jotting down Daehyun’s words. “The blue food colouring is kind of tacky. I wanted to freeze blue curacao and use it for the ice but I wasn’t sure if it’d freeze completely.”

Daehyun hums, perusing the recipe Youngjae scribbled down. “That sounds interesting. You’re not relying too much on the Triple Sec, so it’d work.” He checks the bottle’s proof. “This is 15% ABV, so it’ll freeze in the refrigerator—though it’ll take a while.”

“I’ll try it out again with the freezers in Cosmopolitan. Thanks for the feedback, Daehyun,” Youngjae chirps, pecking his boyfriend’s cheek. “You really are a genius at bartending.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he pauses with a sly cheekiness, “though I am quite good at it.”

“Do you ever miss bartending? Himchan told me you used to live and breathe it,” Youngjae sincerely queries.

“I never really think about it,” Daehyun answers. “I bartend at home, anyway; I’m just missing the customers. And it’s never a good idea to get involved with them.”

“Still, a lot of people ask me about you. You’d always be welcomed back as the bartender of Cosmopolitan if you ever plan on coming back.”

Daehyun draws a finger over Youngjae’s chin and smirks. “You seem very okay with being unemployed.”

“I acknowledge when I’m upped by someone better,” Youngjae remarks coolly. “I’ll go find somewhere else to work.”

“That’s why I’m not working as the bartender. I don’t want the love of my life to run off,” Daehyun sleazily returns.

He rises from his seat and grabs his car keys, slurping up the rest of the cocktail. “Let’s go out for dinner, sweetheart. I’m getting hungry from that vodka aperitif of yours.”

“Okay. I’ll go grab my stuff.” Youngjae hops off the bar stool and heads for the living room.

“Why? Just leave them here,” Daehyun remarks. “You’re coming back anyway, aren’t you?”

“You want me to stay over?”

Daehyun momentarily halts, his attention straying for a second. He ultimately swoops his arms around Youngjae’s hips and burns his smile against Youngjae’s cheek. “Of course,” he breathes. “You’re not going anywhere without me. Not until I’m sure you’ve learnt to look both ways before crossing the street.”

The romantic hours after a sumptuous dinner are left between the sheets, Youngjae arching back in the most mellifluous ways Daehyun can imagine. With spread legs and fingernails biting into the blankets, Youngjae unravels against Daehyun’s touch into a mess of breakneck whimpers. Thump, thump, thump. The menthol taste is absent from Daehyun’s mouth and his eyes are oddly dull.

Youngjae drifts off into a dream of sodden soil and overhead trees, night vigilantly seeping through the canopy of leaves. The forest is awfully silent, Youngjae digging into the ground with a shovel. The tombstone splayed before him is marred by moss.

Youngjae shovels harder and harder till he uncovers the wooden casket six feet down. He pries open the coffin to find a rancid skeleton, flies swarming the rib cage. It eerily brings a sense of relief to him as he gazes at the paper offerings left within. Branded handbags, luxurious cars, grand homes—and beneath, the piles of hell notes buoy up the petite skeleton.

All of a sudden, soil smacks into the back of Youngjae’s head, the man crashing into the coffin. He hastily turns around to find a murky silhouette shovelling soil into the uncovered grave. Youngjae screams but the soil plunges into his throat, the shadow becoming more blatant. The woman has long locks and seems to have wings, fluttering around as she bides her time burying Youngjae alive.

Youngjae awakes temporarily, his body immovable as his groggy eyes notices the bed is empty. His nightmare saves from his sleep paralysis and lunges him into a horrifying darkness of soil clogged in his throat.

Youngjae wakes up with a sharp wheeze, the sunlight cracking into his sobriety. He realises his breathing is strangely laboured and makes out Daehyun’s arms coiled tightly around his stomach, the sleeping man breathing mint into his hair.

“Daehyun, let go. It hurts,” Youngjae whimpers, trying to claw away the man’s fingers. He barely manages to loosen Daehyun’s hold and blearily lies in captivity, his nightmare rotting into obscurity.

Youngjae thinks of Jaebum and falls back asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of Junhong's history from prev chaps: Junhong was abused by his alcoholic father who forced him to steal beer at a shop. He got caught by the shopkeeper and Daehyun who was there paid for the goods and took Junhong in. ^^ In another chapter, Daehyun mentions that Junhong's father died of liver cancer but he doesn't know if he should tell Junhong. Also, Junhong used to live with Daehyun, but after he hit Junhong into the shelves and caused him to get hurt in his withdrawal frenzies, he had Yongguk take Junhong in instead.
> 
> The part about God being a liar is based on The Problem of Evil in Philosophy. This is a very simplistic explanation (all-knowing is considered as a feature of being all-powerful): God cannot be all-good and all-powerful at the same time if evil exists in the world. If God is all-good and evil exists, that means he lacks the power to stop evil, so he is not all-powerful. If God is all-powerful and evil exists, God cannot be all-good as he does not want to stop evil. If God is all-good and all-powerful, evil should not exist—but it does. The conclusion of The Problem of Evil is that it is irrational to believe in a God that is all-good and all-powerful and yet have evil exist at the same time, as that is a contradiction. (I hope this is not offensive! >< I have a religion myself but I thought it interesting to share!)


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